Puck in the Blackout

There you are:

without music,

without light.

And you fly,

she said,

even in the absence

of flight.

(There came

A weightlessness,

as if the noiseless dark

had buoyed me up

to starless heavens.)

What flight is this,

she asked,

(enjoined by other meanings)

what paradoxical machine?

Not one to speak

of metaphor,

of the gravity

of light,

she asked what

Oberon had given

me my wings.

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