A Light Touch

I arrive on quiet—

not to break the skin,

but to kiss it.

*

A glint between breath and reflection,

I flare above the bank of pine,

where the world is still deciding

what kind of day it wants to be.

*

You don’t see me at first.

You feel me—

a hush of gold

threading the chill away,

a shimmer that teaches the surface

how to remember warmth.

*

I do not ask the water to change,

only to meet me—

just there,

lingering in yesterday's rain.

*

And in that glimmer,

before the wind claims it,

you are more than witness.

You are the light.

You are the ripple.

You are the lake forgetting to be still.

*

I am only passing through.

But for this breath—

we glisten—

where sky and soul

embrace the same word for openness.