Where do we find you, graceful light?
With Goethe on his deathbed asking for “more light”?
In the pink line of dawn?
Or the purple stream of a sunset?
In the flicking golden gleam of a child’s waking eyes?
Or the pallid blur of an old person losing sight?
The night is never dark and the light is never far,
as when an illuminated glint of the sun breaks
through gray clouds with its blessings.