Over horizon, in the dark,
transient allure of shooting stars.
Still yet vibrant moments
of joint within and far.
A vastness seized with eyes.
A million years of travel stories,
narrated each, entwined,
it’s not the ears they reach, but mind,
recalled and forgotten as told.
I always feel I know them all,
not memorizing a single one.
A portal gate, wide opened
to connect past with present moments,
events long gone, foretelling return,
tethered together
with a radiant thread of light.
By courtesy of night sky
offered repast of boundless calmness.
I fear to call how troubled a soul
must have become,
to miss this invite for peace of mind
addressed to everyone.
It’s mesmerizing every time.
Light, bearing witness to things afar in space and time, covers distance at a speed only imagination can outpace. It reaches our eyes, fulfilling its journey by transitioning into a thought. But whose thought would that be? An innocent adolescent, genuinely deliberating on the weight of loss, an adult frustrated with how all this potential can be rejected, or maybe someone more mature, full of compassion, for the disabled and prevented from this experience, possibly even self? Is it a quiet time, when admiring night sky feels like a second nature, a busy epoch, too busy to bother, or the last living person, sustained on cosmic radiation for thousands of years, finally coming to a catharsis after millenia of tedious dwelling, realizing how everything is appreciated precisely because of its momentary shining? Perhaps all, at once, mesmerized jointly yet separated somehow. From the calmness they emerge and into the calmness dissipate. All thoughts, shooting stars. There’s no one to tell.
