The Widow Wyile seeks truth
elusive as flickering shadows
bright as the noonday sun

She watches the dance
of light that tells
and wonders 

Gorgeous nickers
encouraging and wise
when you start to say one thing
a tendril of truth
that curls about roots
then suddenly sprouts
well
then
you might as well
not fret or wilt
say whatever comes
  to heart
blooms full minded

however it shines
unstoppable sun
truth needs your voice
to speak it

light is always changing
the shade only seems
still for a spell
then flickers
as does the truth of things
saying
notice

Goats are gutsy
nods the Widow Wyile
sure
you might as well say
what comes
and see where that goes
what that might mean
something
            perhaps
you hadn’t fully known
until you paused
upon it
for that shinning
instant