Drifting Along

As we drift
Along the surface
Of the LIGHT of this present world

We are but
Infinitesimal specks
Gathering dust
To ourselves
As if gold.
Not half as glorious
As we had hoped and
Yet grander then
The simple strands
Our prayers and
Groans would betray.

We rise
Like incense
And are gone -
Only a faint aroma
Of sweetness and
Beauty lingers on the
Boundlessness on the
Trails of time
And space - the rest
Is just the afterburn
Of the resin
On the coals.

And the LIGHT
Goes on, and on
Burning so bright
As to appear as utter darkness.

Bounded rapture of the full
Surround; a blind man
Wrapped in what he
Cannot see,
A wiseman standing
Amid that which he
Cannot understand.

Only warmth.