Song of the Spirit

It is you whom I love –
        You the elusive, who gathers in shadows
and offers the comfort of hollows on gravelly hills –
You, the dweller in older and cleverer voices, and
                the child’s eyes        piercing the quiet
with a sweeter silence.
I know, now
not to inhabit abstractions so much as the fresh chill
                of this exact wave –
You in precision, the butter-blue curl
and bitter-cream furl of the fall
into indigo
                fathoms
                and still it is
                You, swift and soft
in the splay of a luminous fin-adorned swimmer
who nudges and rescues the plummeted –
pulsing them up
                spluttering
into the light of the sun.
author: Sarah Law
issue: Beginning
4 of 21