In Praise of Scattered Light

I want to live in the infinitely small space
       Where the light of the sun paints the oak leaves in quiet illumination,
Where the night is a herdsman for the stars
       That shine brightest in my periphery.

I want to ride wild on a dustmote
       Spinning in the whirlwind of rising thermals
       When the sun bathes the afternoon through high windows,
Or to wade through the waves of slow moonlight
       Between still clouds that whisper silence in the rising and falling tide.

Or, maybe, what I really want —

What I really want is to simply sit on the side
       Of the long pond and watch the light make love to the water
       That in turn blows luminous kisses to the Japanese maples;
To sneak into the dancehall of the time-unbound-threefold-unity,
       Where life bursts like light in the darkness and is not overcome,

Only to find that I’ve been invited in all along.


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