Walk through the woods at night in the dark,
no moon, no light from the city reflecting white
on the clouds that hide the stars—foolish to do
except you discover that degrees of dark will mark
the path, the opening in the canopy, the rise
and dip of rock and ditch, the fallen log—through
the vast spectrum of energy’s frequencies some few
still reverberate in the retina’s rod-packed back,
translating world into dark-darker-darkest yet:
and this, though you do not call it that, is light.