Maggie Smith Ohio Cento Radiance, let me accompany you to some place where light itself might suddenly translate the words I want in large, exuberant letters. Not a place of worship exactly. I know I can be long-winded sometimes, imagining your company’s loveliness— light wrestling there incessantly with light, all this illumination just to show the very looking, a way of making divinity palpable. Sometimes it all feels like an improvisation. Shapeshifter, trickster, miracle-producer, I live letter to letter like an unfinished sentence. If there’s a temple, I haven’t found it yet.