Threads

There is a fearfulness,  a weighty dread that every eye avows --
These windows where the grotesque and the beautiful congeal,
This conduit into the souls of creatures, from beast to beatific,
Where photons flung from nebulae, perch after having taken wing.
Through science or strange alchemy, this tangle of endless string,
Inweave stories, hopes, despairs, loves, both lovely and morbific,
And reflecting, transformed, from the soul's mirror, now reveals,
A longsuffering longing for the farther in, that none would disavow.

There is a felicity, a lightness in being that every voice confesses--
These unbidden yips, or meows, or giggles, unclouded utterances,
Reverberate throaty, as ancient dormant atoms, drafted now dance,
In cacophonies of herds or flocks, or in choirs terrestrial or angelic.
Through the mundane or in mystery, this fanfare waxes evangelic,
These unscripted joyous worship to graces, offer a slanted glance,
Into the liturgies of love crafted in the dawning and in deliverances,
Unyielding call and response that the real is beautiful and blesses.

There is a fearfulness,
There is a felicity,
There is,
I am that I am.