mirrors of the soul
the windows meet
that dew drops sweet
of intent
far from long days
for sunsets
tinged with purple
a knob knurled the tree
that leans against the clime
that pushes from west to east
every morning the boughs upsticking
catch shafts of sunlight across
the sky is a vast work so vast
my hands cannot cover the complexity
of orbits of bodies of celestial color
that doom grey dust of lunar sand
that quiet cold without escape
and when the solar rays light
the surface is warmed beyond life
supremely abject calm passing calm
then dark then night speckled
with salt grained totality
even passing once this eternity
and passed again the revolve
of motions complex and capering
that guide the way
and so the stars have yet
small motions to begin
for everything moves slower
and slower and slow
