Light, pure as a mountain stream,
shines brightly; flowing through
glass in rainbowed iridescence
more beautiful than life itself.

I step forward, drawing aside
the curtains of my soul as
I see the face of God and
welcome him in; Listening
as my doubts become footsteps
of re-affirmation, that echo and
rise with the dust motes in the air.

I smile and join the congregation;
It is Sunday again, half past ten,
the day and the precise time
when the light shines brightest.