Breathe Deeply the Wonder
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
Everything holds a cache of light.
You can see it, of course, in the eyes
And hear it in the singing voice,
At times it drips from the fingers
When the touch is one of mercy.
When we die—when every living thing
Dies—that planted light releases
Into the air, the sky—it lifts, like
A firefly from the field, and travels
God knows where.
If we could see the light going forth
From each thing that dies—each person,
Animal, flower, insect, mite, microorganism—
It would look like a constant carnival—
A festival of lanterns, a galaxy of fireflies—
Every second of every day—each and every moment—
Things die all around us—little, luminous lights rise
From everywhere—bushes, trees, porches,
Sidewalks, hospitals, homes—everywhere light—
Light rising, like a million tiny mornings,
Light diving, like melting snow, back into the earth,
Light smiling at the sudden spiral into freedom–
Ascensions bloom all around us, dartling like
So many intimate flames—
If we could see—and we can if we try—
We would understand we walk through flocks of stars,
And our steps should be conscious and deliberate—and yet as of a child’s–
We live and move in light whirling through branches
And windows, gardens, and streets—
And one day, your light—my light—
Will join the celebration—and someone will marvel
At light’s agreement with the darkness, pray for the illumination,
And breathe deeply the wonder.