we may be content chasing shadows all our days,
or we might move into that illuminating light
from whose arms dappled darkness is ever cast,
shifting semblances of Love true and steadfast
in their early hours waving in the soft breeze
but at noon, spurned lovers diminishing recede
as shadows obey only the angles of divine light
desperate lovers longing for conditional sight.
Copyright © 2018 Stacey Harris