by Paul J. Willis
This evening we are awash in light.
It buoys the mountains as if they have finally
found their proper medium, their true home,
as if only now the peaks and ridges
and chaparral have come to the surface
and are free to look around, to take in air,
to catch us up in their respiration.
If only we could bathe ourselves
in light like this the whole year through.
Could we survive, amidst so much joy?
This evening is the highest tide,
the crest of possibility.
All ships come in:
hulls sleek, sails shining.