Quench

   

A new light has entered

the liminal space between

our mortal sun and weeds. It

might be a great silver dome,

a shroud of distance unresolved …

It might be a celestial cohort

prophesied by ancient sages

or a gentle wind in the pines

who whispers of unknowable

gifts. This mystery is a promise  

given for us that opens at the

pace of flowers to ponder and

breathe in for awhile. So let us

examine ourselves as we

take our place alongside the

wonder of stars. Not only are we

made of dust, we are part of a

vivacious whole full of halting

language, social fallibility,

hunger for all the sanguine

parts and golden company.

Love and atoms crave the

spaces between us as we

stand alone together. Clouds

carry these moving boundaries

across arid lands that stoop

for a drink at the shorelines  

of unknowing where every

unimaginable light begins.