This poem is taken from PN Review 73, Volume 16 Number 5, May - June 1990.
The Political Prisoner1
I am learning the story of light,
I run to it, my eyes claim
Each ray that pours and makes
Me such sufficient bright
Issue that needs no name.
It orders as it breaks
And it excites me as
I wait for winter sun
or full moon to pour through
This seldom burning glass
Which surfaces upon
My window to renew
My eyes and teaches them
The thrill and scope of such
Copious radiance which
Through each small pane will come
...
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