Photons

We grow accustomed to the DARK—
When LIGHT is put away—
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye—

A Moment—We uncertain step
For newness of the night—
Then—fit our Vision to the Dark—
And meet the Road—erect—

And so of larger—Darkness—
Those Evenings of the Brain—
When not a Moon disclose a sign—
Or Star—come out—within—

The Bravest—grope a little—
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead—
But as they LEARN to see—

Either the Darkness alters—
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight—
And Life steps ALMOST straight.

--Emily Dickinson