I often wonder,



when I look at you,



if Galileo felt the same way



when he looked at the stars.

I must have been a Star graced on the pale
and amber Sky against sharp edged Giants,
the way you searched for wings behind me.

A black strip of lace I was, but less frail,
I broke through the loudness and gifted you silence.
Though no Halo was rest on my crown,
You laid yours beside me.

Hark I did try, though the clouds are all that spoke.
I cradled you then, skin soft as bread.
Leaning over like grass in the wind
And planting Daisies on your breast.

Tempest came fast and the sunlight awoke,
opening the wound from its rising, and bled.
It gave an orange and firey tinge,
but the Blood was warm as it spilled over the crest.

Passionately, I held you stark.
The Thorns wrapped around your head and heels
but the River flowed down the Cliffs so steep,
to drown the Thorns in reverence.

And soon your eyes arose from the Dark.
I pulled your chin with my finger to watch you reveal,
and I noticed the Thorns had buried deep
and I worried what served as their consequence.

I could have questioned the Shepherd that rest on the peak,
"what bothers your black woolen Lambs?"
Knowledge so flooded and thought all fragmented,
I kept the silence floating where words could have been.

So we settled in the grove of a like-minded freak,
Glued horns on the Ovis so they looked like Rams,
Made sure the air was a sweet Rose and Wood scented,
And awaited the Sun to burn the mountains again.