With each morning, I chase the sun ~
not to catch it,
but to remember where I began.
Each dawn arrives like a question,
unwritten, unfolding,
waiting for meaning to take shape.
There is something ancient in the light ~
a quiet persistence
that has outlived every darkness
it has ever known.
It finds me without fail,
crossing impossible distances
just to rest upon my skin.
And I wonder ~
if what I feel is not warmth,
but recognition.
As if I am not reaching toward it,
but returning.
Not separate,
not searching,
but a fragment of something infinite
learning, slowly,
how to remember itself.
