Muddled thought, the mind
blocked by thickets, the bushes
wiry and woven
won't let me through -
the shining sphere floats
before my eyes, in longing
I reach and try to grasp,
bring down, but
the light defies, its own
projection living outwith
my living arms, I can only
stare, and marvel,
and wonder how long
it will hover there, how long
it will warm, so I
clasp its light with my
eyes, sight alone the
only touch, in gratitude
I wait and watch
to tackle the wood.
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