I wish there was a way to articulate
your sunbeams and moon rays
Or how often the kindling in your molten brown
burn fiercely
so fierce I worry the fire will shatter
and float and be engulfed by the dark
that my skies so often provide
But in my space you have planted galaxies
to which cause me to breathe you and see you
in different colors of bright
that become my epitome of hope
And I realize you became light
so I could still see the universe
with my eyes closed.