It is possible,
Because we are told
(are we not)
That everything is possible.
So, it is possible that, when
I turn on the porch light,
Bright enough to illuminate
The new, blue crocuses in
The front flower bed,
That that light
Can
Go down to the shore,
Skip across the waves,
Slide past the Lighthouse light
On Partridge Island
And whirl over the waters
Of
The Bay of Fundy.
My tiny light
(Remember, we are told
It is possible)
Takes a sharp,
So very sharp,
Left turn
To reach the wave-lapped
Coast of Nova Scotia
Near to the
Cumberland shore
And can be seen,
Not so far inland
By both the living
And the dead.
It brings inside it
Pain and remembrance
Prayer and hope
A tiny light
Shining as bright
As it can.
Since everything is possible.
kafkaestblog 