Out of this light into a greater light

    James Still

Dusk at my doorway, not turning on the lights,

A full moon already reaching across the yard,

Not yet finding the near pines but overflowing

The rain puddles, deepening the hill runoffs,

And a rabbit, out of winter burrow for perhaps

The first time, passes from shadow into wavering

Light, crossing the yard between the seasons, 

Suddenly stopping and turning toward how far

The light has come, watching it approach, not

Waiting but simply knowing some certainty again

Without any thought, the recurring redemption                

Of belonging in each place and moment it comes to,

Finding there a sanctuary or a safe passage . . .  

And even if I were to step out now into that light

How poor still the power of my own meditation,

How often it ends in some desire, and then despair.

How differently we come to our separate darkness;

And then, above us both, the same storm-washed stars.