bursts like a bullet through me--
All those scratched-up spaces
Where there are pieces amiss.
The experiences of life--those which what made these holes...
So what's left is...
It�s your light, your piercing light.
You can see quite clearly through...
To the other side of this
Forgetting what it's finger's can't touch,
Shadows prance just far enough,
So that the truth won't completely: