Light

Light sings sometimes in a painting
or a morning room
as the sun drives first light through a curtain;

or, perhaps, at noon
the first day of Spring-perfect weather;

certain afternoons
when leaves and sun-shadows dance
in a waltz with light;

and evenings when shadows close down
even shaded light.

Light itself is an upright song
and a pure delight,
even bundled up darkly in matter.

Light is what in life most matters: our star, our sun.