Eidolon

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He saw the lightning in the east and longed for the east,
but if it had flashed in the west he would have longed for the west.
My desire is for the lightning and its gleam, not for the places and the earth.

				—Ibn al-'Arabi
Eidolon
In the windows of the shut theater
we watch her face’s light
sad to be so naked to us.
She knows we’re outside
tiptoeing in condoms and cans
careful not to be seen,
more careful not to see
her bending light.
She never knows when her high notes
will open right-angle cracks
in the ceiling of someone’s memory palace,
never knows when plaster will drop down
exposing interstices
where microbial empires thrive,
never knows when her bare feet
will step on someone’s shattered glass
or when a bright urge to take offense
will poison wine with hellebore
and sling the song against the window.
She hears our tails scuttling
across assorted junk
as we return to our yammering place
having seen her naked
and not imagining she is sad
knowing we can’t recover
the evil health we leave
under her window.
This time we brought a camera
to snag a loitering look,
to sell a broken slave
to a lascivious master
never guessing
her face depends upon its flesh
to hide the eidolon within
not from our camera’s cruelty
but from an innocence
that could be consumed
by what it takes.
We may not be so concerned
but other creatures are
and that is why the cracks
should have warned us
trespass is upon ourselves.
Our choices about aperture,
shutter speed,
the quality of the lens,
the secrets of what we apprehend
tell us what we choose to see.
Leave her now to care
for the creatures we have left behind
under the shattered windows
of the cathedral of our fears.