No one has time to look at the sky
so no one notices
The same higher beings there as inside
That no one notices—instead it's an empty,
Immovable vessel, built for surveillance
and war, that pulses and roars
In the sky that everyone sees;
the moon is only our hearts
telling us what
we've forgotten:
the face of youth, the mirror of love,
the imperfect pearls of what we believe
To be right, to be true,
the sweetness of dreams
allowed to be real, in the muted tones of
incomprehensible poems.
We have been there, every one of us,
although we don't remember.
What do we know of it? Of how it got its scars?
We only know we stand apart
in our fingerprints of pain,
We who do not know ourselves
except as reflected,
Refusing to believe that we are there in the sky,
as far away as how we feel.
