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Where would I be without you?

Groping in the dark. Stumbling through unseen hazards.

Plagued by ghosts and monsters of the id.

My hand, suddenly become that of a child's again,

Seeks hurriedly, plaintively somehow, along the cool, flat surface.

I know you must be here somewhere. Higher? Lower?

Relieved, when I find you, and then immediately I forget all my troubles.

When I use the smallest movement, just a moment of pressure,

To reveal your miracle,

I don't reflect even for a moment on your unbelievable

Once inconceivable

power.

In a place and time where my eyes should not function,

Sight is restored through your glorious intervention.

Yet I'm already on to whatever task was briefly interrupted by the dark.

A dark you helped to dismiss with the least of efforts.

It is not just my ancestors:

I've been camping.

I've been in an ancient attic where no circuit exists. (Nothing for you to complete.)

Sometimes the power goes out.

And while you still function, clicking, flipping, pushing, turning...

Nothing comes of your work.

When the conditions are right, I do you such wrong.

The hand flies out, searching with body memory alone,

To flip.

I think nothing of you, But I expect magic.

Darkness once defined us.

Time to hide. Time to fear. Time to sleep.

Our eyes fail, we cast or gaze about, flailing both focus and limbs.

But you, robust, simple, perfect in that you hide your greatness,

Instigating brilliant humility.

Attendant to the god of light, removing darkness,

Protecting us from the burning heat of the lamp,

The deadly shock of the electric,

You have opened up the night and filled it with ease.

And, unlike so many that bring such power,

Yours is double,

For when it is finally time to collapse,

Overwhelmed by the fumes of oleaginous midnight,

The same simple motion

Welcomes back the cooling embrace of the dark.

Thank you.