Well, I’d rather tell of light that reaches through
than poignantly delineate depression
(sustain of all my strings
muted to a dull gray “thub”)

A light that reaches, rather than piercing,
a lifting off of fog, frequent as dawn

And in the same way as I can’t
make it light outside before the morning,
I can be patient now
and wait the coming day.

©Wendy Mulhern
October 28, 2022