There is always one sacred moment

when the night's ink black sky

allows some personal atonement

to my dull and once-blind eye:

a single white star's icy reign,

absent in the deepest dark,

until the second that my brain

is riven by its diamond spark.

That this sheer shining crystal blazed

while hidden from my careful scan 

can only leave me dumb, amazed

that the mind has this way to ban

the outside world from its internal scene -

the star was always there to see

yet not for my poor mind to glean

until gifted with some unknown key.  

Thus the brain plays with memory's deeps

and hides what we most wish to know

until that one star of recollection leaps

lumined clear in the mind's reluctant flow.

But I have drunk from the Mnemosyne 

and can never forget the love we shared:

that memory now holds my soul unseen

between this world and death's dark laird.