In Praise of Mystery: A Poem for Europa

VEA EN ESPAÑOL
Arching under the night sky inky
with black expansiveness, we point
to the planets we know, we

pin quick wishes on stars. From earth,
we read the sky as if it is an unerring book
of the universe, expert and evident.

Still, there are mysteries below our sky:
the whale song, the songbird singing
its call in the bough of a wind-shaken tree.

We are creatures of constant awe,
curious at beauty, at leaf and blossom,
at grief and pleasure, sun and shadow.

And it is not darkness that unites us,
not the cold distance of space, but
the offering of water, each drop of rain,

each rivulet, each pulse, each vein.
O second moon, we, too, are made
of water, of vast and beckoning seas.

We, too, are made of wonders, of great
and ordinary loves, of small invisible worlds,
of a need to call out through the dark.

WRITTEN BY U.S. POET LAUREATE:

portrait of author

mere
words uttered
in subtlest of melodies

harmless dove's cooing harmony
with morning in the old orchard,
olives from a hundred years ago
in an imagined descripted re vision,
grown wild into a forest with hallways,

listen.