I slip between the hangings
of the years,
looking for light.
In the arena of time, I pace.
It appears in my dream,
a sliver of light,
light freed into gold,
blue, green, apple, pomegranate,
the dream world of my soul.
The room is there,
bathed in mystery,
stepping stone to the present.
The glow is minimal,
incense barely perceptible,
plain song, heaven’s murmur.
One thing I know is, I’m alive.
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