You are the poem that lives on
in all the bright white spaces of me;
the sparkle of snowstorms
in the first flakes drifting
the bleat of a yearling;
the first steps it takes
flowers in moonlight
clouds in the rain
a path to the forest
a mountain bell's clang
calling me home
petal scents on the breeze
white sails on oceans
and softer than these;
faint words on old paper
a gleam in the eye
a jet's silver message
scrawled on the sky;
for you are that radiance
gives me back to me.