This is not a process of grand arcs,
though grand arcs inform it,
this is the way light falls
on every mote, on every crumble
of the soil, the way it sifts
between the needles,
falls to earth in chinks among the shadows

I cannot accomplish it
in one great sweep —
I follow it along the moments,
let the light seep
into every patch of thought it can redeem,
understand it now and now and now
ever new again along my path.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 28, 2019