The light invited

You open, and I spill in
not to startle
but to soften
what’s been aching
to be seen

Your stillness doesn’t hide from me
As I glide along the grain
of every silence,
and curl into the folds
where you had once
made yourself small

I do not ask for names
I just arrive-
slow,
certain,
unafraid of your shadows
or what you’ve hidden within them

you let me touch what others seldom reach:
the tucked-away,
the too-much,
the holy oddness
of your being

and still,
you wonder if you’re welcome-
as if your becoming
is not the very reason
that I came

I needed no invitation
to love what rises in the light
of us
and me
and you