The wall between myself and bliss
has never been so paper-thin
as this: some days when I am near it
golden light comes leaking in
like sunlight through a stained-glass window,
autumn leaves, or shoji screen.
Warm and welcome, pure and present,
yet still not directly seen.
While some may argue nonexistence
of the sun, bathed in warm brightness
I heed no such rhetoric.
I only want to walk in light.
1994