Beneath a sky of stars
in this time of great answering
I will sing
my own brief poem.
If the bowl of the sky is a lens
on the infinite eye
all images pass through
I will seek
mercy
among trees, branches, beings
all deserving care.
Because aren’t we all
swirling dust, flashing shards
from a broken vessel of hope
too vast be contained?
I will seek
the glint in you,
some magnificent bit of shimmer
as we meet and warm ourselves
in presence.
I will ask
what care can I bring
to my own brief glinting?
