I wish I could collect
the light, landing its shadows
on this page as it creeps
ever brighter through the gray.

Pour it out to wash my heart,
salve the wound of this
present heaviness, the sighs
that never end.

Hold it lightly aloft, praying
no sharp wind or
quiet, steady breeze
snuff it out, for we
need it so

Father, carry us,
ferry us through storms,
silent and proud as we
shine hope in the right
direction–people-ward
up ward.

Send us, spread us
like the daily sure rising
of your sun, that moves ever
on into the distant dark.