I wake in flooding sunlight, I said, a thousand impatient,
tiny tongues
Licking at shadows, lapping under wood.
Along the lane.
My lips are cracked and sore, my throat dry. I am tired.
Almost dead.
Can barely see the toiling sun.
Hardly feel Her warming splash
soak me, drench me, leaven my sight.
Loosen my sense, lighten my bones.
She raises me up Her servant –
foot-foot, leg-leg, arms, hand-hand, push –
I said.
To follow (even stumbling.).
Her brilliant strand,
I tell you this my dear son sick in mind:
Her dappling waves.
Her slicking asphalt.
And Her fine rainbow mirrors.
That so much resemble the light that spills from you So.
I believe in that first step She is smiling in me.
So. I knuckle my eyes.
Brush my knees, smooth my hair.
And follow, I said.