Vespers in winter. A certain slant of light.
Cloistered brothers begin their chant of Light.
Van Gogh's sunflowers blaze from the canvas:
Ardent and large, they follow the bent of light.
Fingers of sun break through the settled clouds,
And all self-wounded souls, they pant for light.
Fireflies at night, jazzy constellations,
Brighten the northern woods with a stunt of light.
Enthroned in splendour, the soul's lost love
Shines in the memory, life-source, font of light.
An acolyte of Eastern mysteries,
He probes the skies, this hierophant of light.
Planets dance around coldly blazing stars,
Participants in the cosmic jaunt of light.
View the eclipse not with the naked eye,
But through a sheet pierced with a point of light.
The red low-wattage lightbulb Heather gave me
Fills my bedroom with a strange tint of light.
Decaf tea and a book of ghazals on a rainy day.
Retreat, O Thomas, to your haunt of light.