Sunshine

The warmth of a good poem

Palimpsest

Sunlight dust for sunshne poem

Held like sunlight, felt in the hand, yet gone:

Warm but absent, you are only light.

Graced by presence, true, and golden dust:

But faced with essence, no-one knows your touch.

Formed of fondness, you alone elate,

Then sift to hindsight, drift in the mind, unknown.

Warm but absent, you are only light:

Held like sunlight, felt in the hand, yet gone.

There are some people who grace us with their presence, and are delightful; but then transpire to be insubstantial – not a source of light, but a prism for it; still golden in aspect, warm perhaps, but empty. 

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