You were there,
between the leaves
and along the rays of sun
as they fell to the moss below.
I could hear our chatter in birdsong,
could feel you as the sun touched my face.
We have always been
so now, we are remembering.
(the ceiling in the library at Fonthill Castle)
Light gathers and scatters
from first days to last rites,
and on the days in between
when it seems the world
might fold or crack, light
finds a new path for those
who can bear to look.
The Word Rummager 