Light we've known: a sky & such & never
a veil to shade. Not a kind of looking past
or beyond. Not that. Light like water
insists Turn or cross. Let’s choose waist-deep
soaked-through, or deeper. Hours become
a door left open, swinging wide.
Or we turn away. Whatever wind makes:
what headlines, love songs, what burnt sorrow we hold
to our lips. Not secret but awe. So awed, let’s choose grace
& leave it be—this wading & waiting on. These days
hue-bent and window-lit might prove tender
yet, might flush us or flood us, might
imprint—you made water-mark or shadow
or sun-streak on every wall of every here we’ve been
& gone & not & not yet gone. Hand prove true.