If the last leaf falls from the barren tree
As the flowers turn frail, cold, and dry
In the deepest darkest times
Where the soul cannot find the light

When the heart turns to nature
With the sun and moon as its guide
During the wintry depths of desperation
On the darkest nights when the stars collide

In this losing battle called life
We're meant not to win or conquer
Our aim is for the sky with feet rooted to the green
Finding beauty in the smallest of things

Mother Mary with her tilted head
suggests,
with her Posture,
the light that illuminates her shawl.

Like a leaf tilted by the weight
of water,
the sky demands Enough and speaks,
easy words.

For a time, when the world is silent,
not even
a mystic experience could perfume
the inventory of delight.

Even the light is hollow bubbles.

there was a moment in time
when death sat beside me on a park bench
and he had rested his hand on the gap between us

i,

too,

rested my hand there
and brushed my fingers against his

and for a chaste moment
i savoured the warmth of his skin
and intertwined my hand with his

but he stood up

and left

and maybe he knew,

it was for the better.

For each moment we live
the universe gains a sense of meaning,
an explanation of the origins of life
on this jagged sphere pummeling through the devoid
at an alarmingly quick rate.

We are the reason the universe exists;
if we were not here to view the stars
that line these dark skies,
would there even be a sky in the first place?

Is the infinite possible
if we were not here to decide?

Is consciousness the premise of matter,
or is there an underlying meaning
to the point of this all
that supersedes our infant understanding?

Is there truly a concrete precedent
to establish the groundbreaking ideal
that we are alone in this vast expanse
as we eagerly await the impossible?

I gaze upon this world we know
and come to find that, instead,
we reign in a world unknown.