I never asked for any light to rain down on me,
  not even like as fireworks
  or those now-ubiquitous icicle Christmas lights.

It was more like actual rain:
  a spray or mist of discrete light pockets
  dropping all over me
  leaving no wet or remnant of any kind
  just ever-fleeting memories
  of moments of clarity
  illuminated by the temporary truth
  of insight light
  parceled out in small bits
  as if to ration certainty.

I’ll never believe there’s some charlatan wizard behind a curtain
  pulling levers to spray the light
  to those lucky enough
  to be standing in the light place
  at the light time.

I so resist the impulse to seek the light’s source, actually.

I prefer to revel in the illogic of
  short wave light in a universe where
  light yearns to be continuous
    to match infinitely repeating equations
    that posit infinity…at least in theoretical physics.

But ultimately, they say, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

And I’m just enough aware of a small sample
  of key quantum theories that let me sleep tonight
  believing that tomorrow will not disappoint,
  and simply continue to provide
  a light rain.
 

Copyright 2002, Stephen Buckley
10.23.02, 1135-1145pm