The Amber and the Light

I have seen the way the morning breaks, All gold and glass across the sleeping sea, But no horizon holds the light it takes To match the way your eyes look back at me. Not common earth, nor simple shades of wood, But polished amber, deep and honey-spun, A steady warmth that understood My heart before the speaking had begun.

In those dark circles, I find quiet lands, A depth of autumn, rich and coffee-dark, Where all the world's loud static finally stands In silence, yielding to a single spark. They are the soil where all my comforts grow, The cedar's strength, the hearth fire’s glowing core; The more I look, the more I come to know I’ve never truly seen the light before.

And then the curve—the breaking of the grace— When joy begins to pull upon your lips, And all the heavy shadows of this place Are lost within that bright and brief eclipse. Your smile is where the winter meets its end, A sudden summer blooming in the cold, The kind of kindness time can never bend, A story that can never be too old.

It isn't just the flash of white and bone, Or how the corners crinkle at the edge; It is the feeling of a traveler home, A sacred vow, a soft and wordless pledge. Between the steady brown of every glance And every grin that sets my spirit free, I find the only rhythm, only dance, That matters in this life’s geography.