I saw you not, yet knew you in the air—
A hush between the turning of the day,
As if the light, grown tired of bright display,
Withdrew to shape your shadow from its flare.

The stars stood still, as if they too would stare,
And time, disarmed, let silence have its say.
The world grew soft; all sharpness slipped away—
I found your soul in everything, and there.

No rose more patient bloomed, no wind more kind,
Than what I felt in thoughts I could not speak.
You taught the stubborn earth how to be meek,
And showed the blind the language of the blind.

Love, unnamed, unseen, and yet so whole—
You were the fire that finished making soul.