Not feeling much of anything;
my face hovers, detached,
no light from within it.
If I were to float back up — get up there again
where the sun shines hot and then
track with it around the planet,
I would surely shine. It wouldn’t matter
that it was not my own light. I recall
the heat, remember what it was like.
Instead, I’m bobbing along down here
with a seared, dimmed face, loosed
from my moorings, trying to illuminate
this thick night with all I have,
though I can’t feel what good it will do.
Not feeling much of anything, in fact,
beside fear of the dark.