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Feb 2012
Expansed in cloudless skies
Afternoon's promised all
A starry sacred finger.

Numberless specks of light,
Organized by time and weight.

So condensed specks of dust -
Some dialed in for sight, face up
Just in time for the exhibition:
Grandeur on a scaleless slate.

This is the reason to rhyme.

You may say "not at all"
But I prefer to step and fall
Into the black as though it were
so close to me - to reach and stir
with a hand the nebula's wisp
made of things both soft and crisp
hot and cold, as season's due
year in and out- Still - and true
Ceasing not but to amaze
So flicker the Pinpoints - spots of haze
Never changing - still they move
Moving change - hangs still above.

Only when I turn down my eye
Blades of grass that live and die
speak this ancient tale to me
of dartling lights and infinite sea.

Yet everywhere I look about and see that everywhere's about
I find myself lost in oceans of one,
A frozen sea that feels like the sun.
Ship to ship I wish to link
But having cast off my way to blink
I sink (into a hue)
I think (as if I have a clue)
I sink (then, into blue)

Out of my heady-ness there comes yawn,
The same readiness that forsees a dawn,
Witnessing miracles can't go on
So in I meander from the lawn.
Written by
Michael Donovan  Boston
(Boston)   
703
 
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