A world caught in orbital planes will tilt,
And circles the burning sun in elliptical arc,
The cosmos awash in a symmetry of gravity,
Matter, dark matter or spirit haunts the galaxy,
Bends dimensions in forces fearful, yet lovely,
Expanding in blossom or contracting in wilt,
By the powers.
An awesome ballet of quasars and clusters,
Somewhere a small bead of green and blue,
In a small graceful spin around a small star,
By the measure of worlds, not even on par,
Yet a Spirit breathed there, o'er the horizon,
Ex nihilo evolved -- as the creation musters,
To the song.
One man, one night, walks below a satellite,
All aglow in the light of the seraphims' wings,
He sees whom he cannot with eyes of a soul,
Breathes like a newborn, content and whole,
Though he prints the sand on a distant shore,
Swearing love and fealty, a young acolyte,
To a Saint.
Wandering below such skies -- ambering dawn,
The expanse of the cosmos pales as his eyes,
Burn a hole in the canvass and plead to the God,
To bridge the distance of miles of sea and of sod,
To the one, that in all the heavens and all the earths,
Is she, the one that his heart is hopelessly drawn,
To revere.
Oh, how I miss her eyes,
Oh, how I miss her touch,
Oh, how I miss her smile,
Oh, how I miss her soul.
Beloved, beloved, beloved,
Yours,
Mine,
Ours.
