The poor sun,
knowing only its own brightness,
has never seen shade,
never witnessed darkness,
knows nothing of night
and its gentle cloak,
doesn’t know how an object,
an apple, say, or a face,
curves into shadow
and how the shadow
makes it so lovely,
makes it deep and round,
blessed by the shape of its disappearing,
sweetened by loss,
inviting an arm around
its other side.
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Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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