I want to tell you that you’re seen,
sitting there in the dark.
The blue’s a veil, the clouds will shift,
in a giving way to the moon.
The light, though now just a forgotten thing,
will all of a sudden appear.
The clouds playing skittles with the wind will push through,
and the moon arrive like the sun.
But, in the meantime you’re still seen.
Loneliness is a shadow, cast by grief’s lengthy visit,
and tears, a shield
to soften the remembering.
These things will shift, like clouds at midnight,
chasing and unveiling the moon.
Yes, joy is a thing too fickle some.
A frail presence too soon.
But God will come on little cat feet,
as mist receding at noon.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry