Some Sense Their Presence

Some sense their presence;

their radiance,
luminous in the dark.
Others know their faults,

their imperfections,

but this makes them 
all the more attractive,

all the more 
accessible.

I cast my eyes on long poems 
from books that fall apart 
in my hands.

I leap from one stanza to another

as I descend.

So many answers 
to unknown questions,

so many poems 
that never end.