Poetry and poësie

Photo by De Waal Venter

Sunlight

It streams down on me,
steadily it comes down,
passes through my fingers,
pushes against my eyelids,
bounces back from everything.

It warms my skin,
the fluff on a peach;
it reddens tomatoes,
unfurls the floppy leaves of lettuce.

I weigh it in my hands
but cannot judge its weight;
I feel it with my fingers
but cannot hold it back.

It is only now
that I think of it.
Most of the time
to me
it does not exist.