Before We Were Separate

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.