Is the geography of space our world?
Looking into everlasting shadows?
What is our entanglement with coasts,
poppies, walls of cloud?
Twilights shed of rain,
and the long breath we take
to love so much.
If we refuse to close our eyes
the stars take us.
The razor’s edge of day and night at
the edge of our heart’s caring.
Before voyages or after,
nothing is so terrible as losing love,
or never waking to take
one more kiss.
What happens to the atoms
that make us?
Where is the information
of our souls going?
The eminence of that sense
that furnishes pen and paper
for a poem,
a pipe to play a song,
reed or silver flute.
Words that come of their own accord,
and are of themselves,
continents that hold
the length and breath of dreams.
Are we a world in which space resides?
The surf that falls upon a shore,
our thoughts?