Will I still exist,
but like a shadow exists—
in the absence, yet still just
because of the sun
will I fear that brave shining man
who is above
all surprises, who never makes promises,
he simply acts—
the look on his face,
one of love beyond measure
that can never be denied, hidden from,
or obscured
the sound of his voice
like thunder cracking, splitting huge blocks
of the past
and the future
into slivers of a present moment
which are difficult to use
and far outlast my capacity
to measure
