There is always one sacred moment
when the night's ink black sky
allows some personal atonement
to my dull and once-blind eye:
a single white star's icy reign,
absent in the deepest dark,
until the second that my brain
is riven by its diamond spark.
That this sheer shining crystal blazed
while hidden from my careful scan
can only leave me dumb, amazed
that the mind has this way to ban
the outside world from its internal scene -
the star was always there to see
yet not for my poor mind to glean
until gifted with some unknown key.
Thus the brain plays with memory's deeps
and hides what we most wish to know
until that one star of recollection leaps
lumined clear in the mind's reluctant flow.
But I have drunk from the Mnemosyne
and can never forget the love we shared:
that memory now holds my soul unseen
between this world and death's dark laird.