The Meteor Shower
In the morning's empty hours, before dawn
shrinks the world to its familiar size,
before the Sunday paper slaps
our fieldstone walk like a judge
rendering a verdict, we stand on the dock
as the heavens spit stars over the water.
So long ago, near three hundred years,
the comet passed our way, only now
its bright script legible in this cold
frenetic night. What mattered then
matters still: patience, faith, light.
Meteors shoot through Orion's belt,
blaze ghost-green trails that shimmer
for seconds—-or is it centuries? Time
accordions outward to its fullest,
a breath held at the point of pause
before contracting, an endless
instant. We turn toward home
and see suspended above our house
a fiery arc, a comma, as if to say
This is God: patience, faith, light.
My very best to you elp, and to everyone who reads this thread. |
