When I can’t find the light,
I look for it in small things
glowing. I flick a switch
to ignite white bulbs
on branches, each reflected
four-eyed in the double
window pane, multiplying
possibility. I find it
captured in my bridal veil,
cascade of white descending
from a frame a foot above
my desk twelve years behind me.
But some nights I sit
with a glass and a remote
and stare toward a scene,
probably a romantic comedy.
When the screen goes black
after the credits, I can’t find
the light–I am the dark
leather couch, black pillow,
empty glass. Still there are
a couple wicks in a hand-poured
candle. This empty glass
could catch the flames, refract
and fill to overflowing. Strike
a match, small thing. Glow.
This little light of mine,
I’m gonna let it shine.
For with You
is the fountain of life;
in Your light we see light.Psalm 36:9
