Waltz of Light

by Lori Hershberger

And by the bridge I stop, three-fourths to home
To watch the shadowplay of parted light
Dispersed once by the wind and left to roam
On dappled hills, diffused in broken flight.
Dropped by the clouds upon the mountain’s face
It swings in fluid waltz towards the east
Upon green crags with lithe and easy pace,
Now rising, falling, turbulent and creased.
Speak not to me, no, dare not breathe a word!
My soul is seething joy so fierce and brief,
It follows light as would a homing bird,
And brinks the edge of ancient, singing grief;
A grief so great it bound its keening spell
With flaming swords when all of Eden fell.

Lori Hershberger lives in Mae Hong Son Province, Thailand, where she teaches EFL and dreams of traveling across the Salawin River into Burma. You can find her book, Dustbeams, on Amazon.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy

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