One night after work


The wind, roaming and ranting all day,
finally collapses exhausted into the grass,
and curls herself into a little ball,
relinquishes with a sigh the evening into
stillness to showcase the stars unhampered.

So did I, collapse that is, on my balcony
in the spreading gleam of a spring night,
allowing my eyes to unravel three threads:
from a blinking human coach to a coasting
satellite to stars of dippers and belts.

Ah, the stars. Here I am, tethered to
planet, soul reaching, caught in a longing
that peers beyond the edge of universe to
something. I can’t explain star dust
or earth dust. I just breathe or try to
breathe living galaxies into human lungs

and hope a glimmer enters the ordinary.
Meanwhile I’m caught hanging, wishing
the street lights and airports to recede, wishing
the hosts of heaven to be polished clean,
every invisible one of them, in desert bare brilliance,
stripped bright and gliding naked

across light years to me. So where are you, all stars,
and who am I to ask? Two worlds mingling or
perhaps not, dim (for my eyes) sky fire and
grounded clay, two existences so vast, so far
apart, yet each so utterly beloved by one Maker
that the wind rolls over and grins in her sleep.

Comments

  1. When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars you have set in their courses, what are mere mortals that you are mindful of them, human beings that you should care for them? Psalm 8:3-4

  2. Wow, Elaine. I thoroughly enjoyed that.

    Thanks for that and also for the Psalm. Good things to ponder.

    Miche