Lights Above Ray, Minnesota
The cabin door clicks shut. I see you
looking up at the resting place
of time. No sheet of familiar stars,
but shapes cascading through a space
so deep, you do not breathe. Purple
vines,
sapphire fish, sheer magenta sands
drift and fade in a sea green storm.
Is this
the way love is born? With both hands,
you reach up, running your fingers through
the iridescence. When ground brings
vertigo,
you go for a camera to catch the glittering
dark. Beneath the pine whose branches
also
reach for raining light you feel humble
and calm. From the gates of night and
day,
sacred beings are spilling star shine into
soil.
All the while, a massive silence weighs
upon your heart. One billion light years
out,
galaxies and dust exchange vast energies.
They touch and go. Human love's a dizzy
reflection.
Like you, the cosmos grows pleased
when playing with zero. You told me
a galaxy
forms from a thimble of night collapsing
on itself.
From the peak of this sky, I see the top
branches
of the sacred tree quivering as they hold
life
in place. We pulse with paradox,
with sweet darkness and fire that can move
through distances, gauged by more than eyes
alone.
There is no edge, but always room to love.
In amber, in a glance, patterns change
or persevere one billion light years deep.
In this lower country, we might wake with
hearts,
astonishing as this sky, or decide to sleep.
What do you believe humanity will do when
new energies start to come through us?
Let's not doubt the harmony of bones, heart,
breath,
and love first found in formlessness.
By Roberta Hill
.