There’s a misty, moss-covered place
in the mountain where I go at dusk,
where a single lantern glows continuously
behind a veil of cendal.
And everything—sound, thought, pain—
softens into a whisper
and solace in a gentle, healing dim,
a sacred light that holds me without asking.
Quiet, unearned,
in a kind of reverent embrace,
and gathers into a single act of grace