How Light Works where it is Darkest

                         from Art is Always an Impression of What an Artist Sees 
                                                       by Martin Willitts Jr.

This is how light works:
It is a woman holding her head
upon the surface tension of a pond
as it supports her weight on its fleshy skin,
heavy as lilies,
her face rippling concentric circles of color.

This is how light moves:
It affects the sounds of color –
a newborn,
its heartbeat floats, a trail of darkness into light.
When I lift green from the lily pad into my hands,
it is your whisper.

Light drifted from my heart,
a minor heart attack.
It was all I could do to not float away on that water.

That first birth of light and that last futile light
matter most.
Everything else is clouds reflected on green waters
mirrored in the clouds,
changing when light changes.
The lilies hear this change.

In between is the throb of fireflies.
This is when light becomes a fugue of silence,
cutting the embryo cord,
unmooring lily pads.

This is how light works:
we are interconnected with everything in the universe;
each dark fragment, each strand of love,
so when we swim towards death
we are never alone.

When someone holds our memory,
we are never gone.
We are a part of the whole.
We are a part of the clouds, the cricket’s music,
the white light from the lily, the green
births, the halting heartbeats –
so that where it is darkest,
it is light.

When I hold you
like it might be the last time I hold you,
we are light.*

Martin Willitts Jr. © 2013

[*] Waterlilies, Green Reflection, Left Part, by Claude Monet, 1916