I am a modest house, a house solely <br />notable for the fact I lived here once. <br />Its brass plaque depicts an oxygen eye <br />in which two pupils of hydrogen dance. <br /> <br />Downstairs is where I lit fires whose insights <br />with approach-velocity froze me, then <br />singed off into flame. This always happened when <br />I came close to a truth. Months passed. Years. Nights. <br /> <br />Shall I accommodate myself again, <br />a humble aquarium of lordly <br />thumbs, some fin de species? Of course each word <br /> <br />the blackout-moth mutters to my keyboard <br />shows the snowiest letter on this page is “I”— <br />must I now plumb its one remaining pane?<br /><br />Bill Knott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/face-in-the-window/
