How do I create
Something that outlives me?
I know if I did, I’d leave behind glowing streaks of inspiration,
The light, my light.
I want to sweat light, breathe light.
The very air swirling off the warm edges of my skin
Is woven of light and fashioned of the sweetest rays of the sun.
It is the light, my light.
I want to be that kind of soft, wispy light
You imagine sighing gently, every once in a while,
Off the tips of leaves in a forest.
The kind that is made of magic and spirit,
That you can only catch if you are one with the wind and trees.
You could run for days on that forest path
And never grow tired,
And when you jump,
You touch the sky.
That’s the light, my light.