Gossamer strands

In those fleeting moments 
between sleep and wakefulness,

as my soul crept back in
to roost after its 
nightly ramble amongst 
temple ruins beneath 
the shifting sands of time, 
their altars built in vain
In the name of true love,

It brushed past
something sublime 
And yet familiar,

Like your fingertips in my hair
Or your arms around my grief
Or your face in every song

And my first thought formed,
drops of quicksilver
thawing in the quiet dawn:

“Be still my soul,
for your true purpose
Is already here”

If only they built
those temples
around your smiles