It is on a star that our fate hangs.
Washed about in the cosmos.
Small bird in a starry flock.
Nestled on a little kernel,
surrounded by fire,
is the Mississippi,
the Taj Mahal.
Chirping poets,
and the clandestine loves
of a billion souls,
bringing candy to each other.
Flowering in their dreams,
and going, God knows where,
toward the incomprehensible
tides of space.
But I am consoled walking
back to my bed,
being frightened in my thoughts,
that my arms hold
the most amazing truth.
There is no one place
far away in you.
Your eyes lidded in sleep
enclosed in your heart
everything that is beautiful.
That God and goddesses
play here, on this earth.
That you are my altar of peace
and well-being.
No less than a world
springing into life
from an infinitesimal sigh,
to exist
and be loved.
So when we die my dearest,
we will cry all night,
and wake in the morning
in each other’s arms,
in love forever.