Every Light

Our birthright, love: is it not our grove—our inborn flower—
And the sky—a waterfall of dreams: vibrant and free; and sagic
Eyes—a flaming crystal; and such millponds—fraught with
Joy; and still, unborn currents press the pavement; and trestle-

Born thoughts trek a whetstone; and tears shimmer love;
And pain drums a heart. I sit and gaze, and gaze and sit; and
Our voyage—so keen; and our compass—so clear; and still,
Many tangents; and still, many wars; and such silken scars—a

Quilted kiss; and such love—the highest peak; and mystic
Dawn—a lover’s yelp. In truth, the tide—a vox of roses; and
Old debris—a well of wishes; and leap and dance, and dance
And leap; and sing and reap, and reap and sing; for love is
Life, and life is love; and joy is art, the art of joy; and every
Light—the light of love.