Stars
Inside
(“Yet when [the mustard seed] is sown it grows up and becomes the
greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the
air can make nests in its shade.” Mark 4:32)
There are stars inside us preheated before explosion,
preparing for expansion, spinning toward constellations
no eyes have perceived. Souls do have their dreams.
There is a universe
within the smallest frame;
tiny fingers, bony toes, skinny necks, legs like sticks,
that contains the molecules and recipe for the masterpiece
hung on heaven’s wall; the melody played down heaven’s hallways.
We are not and yet, we
are full and void, we shout the echoes,
whisper the amperage, and walk so small it is a wonder
we are noticed at all.
We are tall and flat,
we are poets and pedants, we laugh whimsy,
scowl about rumors, and crawl so huge we peek above the clouds
dragging our feet through the deluge.
There are demons inside
us where we seldom lodge,
uneasy, we quote their excuses as if it reduces our
personal contribution to the thin layers of global harming.
There are sinners and
angels, God’s image and Adam’s,
the conflagration of destruction, the inferno of purification.
We are creation’s wonder, and the source of mourning for
all our humility and hubris.
There is a Morning Star
poised just below the horizon,
a speck of light in minute degrees sometimes seen between
the firs and cedars. There is a Daylight Name within each
layer of fascination. The voice to uneasy space, the full
to emptied disgrace; pulling all toward itself; the Gravity
Of a Humble King who is
found among impossible things.
