Lucía M. Polis The Poetry of

I sighted sunrays through my battened slats.
Light filtered to the room; I did not stir.
O, what’s the use? To revel in your glance
Vouchsafes me nothing but a noisome burr.
Each darting glare can penetrate the skull,
Your senses singed, and cause the eyes to throb,
Or culminate in torment, dumb and dull;
Unmoored and sieged, your thoughts are beaten, robbed.
In view of this peculiar day, I might
No mercy have expected from the spheres,
For full assault to launch with fulgent spite
Upon a mind replete with doubt and fear.
Light falls inexorably down and finds
Light full of light that fills with love and binds.