BECAUSE OF LIGHT

Tonight I was given the gift of a memory.

I remember as a small child,

the color of indigo.

It would bring an inner joy,

more than five dollars,

more than abstract security.

A color of rich hue.

A matchbox.

A crayon.

A shiny foil balloon.

Can I imagine that today?

Has growth robbed me of maturity?

Have I forgotten what I’ve always known?

Or am I being remembered?

When was the last time

a color meant more to me than money?

When was the last time

a color raptured my attention and held it indefinitely?

When was the last time a color became a quiet whirlpool of centered joy?

Because of light?

Because of light.

It was then that I could see best.

So in hope, I rub my eyes with mud

and stumble towards Siloam’s pool,

foolishly dancing along the way.

Maybe there,

color will be refracted.

I can’t see fully yet,

but a young child has grasped my hand.