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| Photo courtesy of Pixabay |
There is a star above us,
merely one of a million-million
glories
that absorb our awed perception.
But it flowers on our soul’s
horizon
like a new-made moon, or the
primal dawn of Truth—a singularity
we may abandon all to follow.
We may camp here, shivering at the
edge of our heart’s own minor
galaxy—
huddled suddenly against a
star-strewn
hillside, lambs curled silently
around
our feet. We will be shepherded;
we will hear the unvoiced universe
burst open and regather, singing
out—a counterpoint, a psalming.
A compline. Oh, an ecstasy of
angels!
