The light comes through
the suboceanic dream,
through folds and fissures,
growing green with distance
through the deep transparencies,
reflecting and refracting
down and down towards where we sleep

We will follow all of its lines —
we’ll call them story —
We’ll look for something
that will bring us out,
or closer to it

We’ll always choose
whichever one seems brightest
in our unceasing struggle
to find the real light,
the one whose rays
have found their way
to all these stories,
which they can be touched with
but never contain.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 15, 2015

photo by Heather Mulhern