Light like the moment after the baton tap & before the
            first symphonic note.
Light of the possible, light of the improbable.
Light not like the way she says the syllables of my name.
No, light like the silence after.
Light with its promise of photosynthesis.
Sacred light, quotidian light.
Light like laughter without embarrassment.
Light the artist works for years to catch, for lifetimes
            without success,
& light that erases such failure.
Light like sugar cane.
Light the first bees carry off to pollinate.
Light of my wanting, light of my surrender.
Unholy light, forgiving light.
Light soft as the Platonic ideal of petals.
A garden of light, its perfume.
Light of waking up without her.
Light that already wanes toward full day.
That light,
that momentary light with its hint of the eternal.
Light I’d walk into if I could.