Seeing Things
It still rinses everything
in a sacred wash,
gives a significance beyond
the boundaries of the natural.
The soft light falling on a field
appears sanctified, filtered
through a prism to dim
the Divine and so not blind
human sight.
It seems too simple to be only
the blessings from a mortal sun
and yet, bathed in its golden glow,
butterflies flutter
from flower to flower
as beautiful as angels.
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