My sister and I searched the garden at nighttime,
Hoping to catch fairies spreading their sparkling dust.
Once Lucille fell over the stone into the puddle.
All we got were wet knees and muddy shoes
And a hope of something beyond a veil of our own making.
The wet and the cold always go with shadows.
We learned that without illumination one step separates us
From a finite scolding easily replaceable by the next night’s search.
In a grand cathedral my camera snaps
Admiring the hues of a Last Supper scene.
I turn my eyes with reverential intent to the tradition’s art,
When my heart catches the gold of the resurrected Jesus
That pulls me into the light of candles lit for prayers’ ascent.
I saw altar candles illuminate eternity.
A voice calls me, and I turn to answer.
So I walked and walk on in glimpses of a further light.