Everything is full of its own essence; <br />so full, it shines beyond itself <br />and makes its own space, <br />an inner space so great <br />that it meets ourselves in its own radiance; <br /> <br />so full that if we name it – <br />blade of grass, thunderstorm, darkness, angel – <br />it sighs to be named, lowers its eyes in sadness, <br />silent with a certain regret <br />at being parted from the name it shares <br /> <br />and even when we say that name – <br />say it quietly, listening as we breathe, <br />call it some name like God, or poet – <br />even then it sighs a little <br />like a child knowing its first fear <br /> <br />yet shining with forgiveness <br />like a tree, like an angel, like a feather.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0134-all-things-shine/
