Nearly Perfectly

The bar of light that crosses the wall
Has as much mystery as the life
Of a saint. It's history before
It can be named. I'm already gone

Somewhere else in my borrowed world, paused
On another time, another spot
In the garden of things I forgot
Are incapable of a real pause.

The photographs of the house before
The renters' relatives have arrived

For what promises to be motion
Enshrine light's miracle of stillness.