In the end, I want to be leaning forward
toward the light, whatever light is coming,
watch it zoom past me and take me up
in its arms – I want to slap away the hands
trying to keep me still even while holding
them in mine: Love, the light is really there,
shining in the back of our best moments,
the glow that lights newborns, the sunrise,
first coffees, the stars, the dark,
I’ll lean forward farther, fall against
my legs in supplication: when it finds me,
I want to want the light.


By Heidi Turner