The faintest of whispers, the softest of sighs,
a “did I see something” obliquely pass by?
a movement that speaks; a presence that loves,
a whisper of gossamer; myriad doves.
not much is required; so little we need,
the smallest of dreams, a mere mustard seed.
a glimpse, or a glimmer, a flicker of light,
a promise of day against vapid night.
© Copyright Suzanne Grosser