Emily Bilman
After Leonora Carrington’s painting
Can I survive the very light I created
Irradiating from the godhead
Surrounded by protective angels?
The divine quintessence in human form
even wanes the crescent moon
while it lights the stars and nebulae
from within, as in a poem,
whereas two philosophers
wearing tawny cloaks, with winged
beasts lying below their feet,
argue about the essence of truth.
Is truth enlightenment from within
like a crystal lamp lit on a grief-veined
night, a darkness wherein roam hybrid
hyenas, lions or ligers, their passions
neutralized on paper and the canvas?