Baby time is calling to its window
The stars blink in, and fade to ash.
And I am a flower, a rose, a passing hour
Amid a cup of space—horizons twine.
My consciousness is a photon firing,
And we are the matter of gods.

Infinity is painting a self-portrait—
Its faces are everywhere,
Changing and remembering.

When the portrait is complete,
There will be another, by a new hand.