A Patch Of Sunlight Speaks
Breathing the dust of centuries, I spread
myself beneath your beam that slants above,
its shaft across my face. Alone, I’m dead,
my whole existence turns upon your love.
Darkened by shadows, troubled by the sound
of trampling feet, I long to fly to you,
rise up; but you’re of heaven, I the ground,
and even though you give me wings, renew
my trust in you with every touch, I fear
that I’m a mere reflection of your heat,
your side effect. Am I not really here?
Can creature and creator never meet?
My dreams are light as air and vast as space,
yet transient as the gold of your embrace.