He paints with light

He paints with light,

he who is not here yet is -

moving across the room

with passing time

his brush aglow with colour.

He scours the shadows

and travails

of hidden places

where ignored webs lie dusty

and litter loiters undisturbed.

Touching scars with outstretched arms

and wounds with healing grace.

And in the ribbon rays of light

other dusts in speckled gleam

gather the light in their selfishness

like galaxies in pin pricked skies.

And like the prayers of ages passed

'otherness' fills the room

with peace.