On a mountaintop in
I recline under the open sky, watching
the stars emerge, slowly,
one by one, each making its appearance
with significance, with meaning,
gradually filling the sky
with order and disarray –
patterns both familiar and foreign.
I love the way they unfold
with such patience and grace,
revealing plans as indiscernible
as they are clear.
And I wonder why
I am not as patient
with my own life.
1 comments:
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Why didn't I read this one before? It's a good one. You have a way with words, and they have a way with you. You should write a book or something.
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