If I see the back of you
in the glint of light through leaves,

in a rising moon
shifting between clouds.

In the explosion of the sun
behind the hill at days end,

or its gentle ascending glow
at dawn.

If all I see feels like
I am following at your heels.

Fleeting muse among the trees,
your lantern’s light slipping in and out.

The sound of your robe
and sandaled feet beckoning me.

If all I see is a tempting glimpse
of heaven,

bright edge of beyond,
the wrapping of the gift.

Then that glimpse is such that any more
would exceed what I can contain.

It’s not that you’re not here alive
with us, in full.

It’s that our eyes perhaps
must wear blinkers to shield them from the glory,

that otherwise would undo
in its magnitude.

For now, we see you clothed.
For now, our senses dip their feet at the brink,

and that must be enough
to sate our human restlessness.

Enough to follow you,
sweet light through leaves,

your hand’s caress
on our sleeping brow.

One day we will wake
on the other side of heaven’s back.

And will see all of what
alludes us now.

Ana Lisa de Jong
February 2018