There is a kind of light
you should know--
the russet the sun leaves in our hair,
that strains the gold from the color
like a sieve
as we stand in the noon
or through the everyday autumns
it is a light that crawls inside of us
and walks our shadows
to the plank,
that's how I know it is you.
You walk through the day
with a tentative glow
that hovers around you
but never sinks inside,
as if you harbor something.
Your presence is the lamp of Diogenes
against the sun,
worn like a life preserver,
your shadow trembling in the half of you
as if you would drown in the day.