By David Wright
She is an artist, tenderly dappling highlights and accents of
Warm white onto the lips of lovers kissing on a warm park evening.
She is a balm that soothes the melancholic poet who, at his open window, weeps
For the words that pour like tears from his soul
She is a friend to those who fear the abandonment of
The selfish and raging Sun. Those cast out into the cold darkness
She is an elegant goddess who gives life to the fleeting dances of fireflies
Over a still pool that bears her yellow stripe on its rippled surface.
She is a guardian that shields us from the nefarious night who
Seeks to smother our eyes with a cloak of heavy blackness.
She is a comforting mystery for whom our ignorance is embraced with a wailing ecstasy.