Light falls as if incarnate, folds in burnished
sheets, coppering the canal, liquid honey
holding russet leaves suspended,
a liminal substance, another element,
to complement earth, air, fire, water.
I see the water in my body as light.
I can split white light with a gesture,
have a rainbow issue from my right hand,
and unfurl like a geisha’s fan, stream oily
blues and greens of the aurora borealis.
I am translucent as light flows ethereal
in my veins. At the speed of light, thoughts
are shaped, born, delivered even before
their conception. My mouth beams
light to lighten our dark Creation.
Ablaze like this, I fly and burn, beatified
in my lustre, bow out in a blaze of glory,
fork my lightning to awe-struck admirers,
dazed and dazzled by my effulgence.
Light falls beautifully, incarnate.
Amanda Brookfield
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Amanda Brookfield would like to hear them
