’tis wondrous to be a mote on Gods eye —

-you see roots of light, filaments;
it’s a miracle speeding ponderously, stupendously
as a congregation of stars transfigure into a winged-galaxy
and spiral-Angels glitter in your eyes –

dancing between every wondrous thing
in time and space matters,
orbiting infinitely-in
where every round thing dares begin –

first-light at the edge of the fatal-skin you’re in,
rises in longing swells, the measure of your heart;
a nebulae of mystery, the numinous light of peregrinated stories –

from stars we come to stars we shall return,
this ancient ache of longing urging us to burn,
to shine on ‘n on from inside out,
where illumination is a fire without any doubt

I’m not worried now, she is beautiful
no need to hurry now, she never dies
in infinite nights, she carries us far and away