Mirror Image

I can’t help myself from assuming

a thin statin cloak of golden light 

is draped across our shoulders

running it’s illuminating, enamored fingers

around each bend and dip of our bodies.

I have to suppose it’s not a gift,

such a label demeans the magnificence

of a force so inherently courageous

presence is not a question,

you see, irrevocable and unearned. 

I only wish to dare to be so brave.

And contrary to my common sense, 

I find myself wondering if this light

is simply a multitude of reflections

resulting from a blazing glow through

the prism of god herself,

a shimmering crystal ball suspended

to refract her brilliant, infinite spectrum 

in every direction, filling in every corner.

And while not always perceptible,

I’m convinced even the smallest glints

are offering us a clue, or probably,

a reminder that every bit of you, and me,

and what stretches out to the horizon,

is all a glistening mirror, simply reflecting.