The night sky:
an avalanche of darkness.
The ripening stars:
splashes of light filled dust,
flying islands of burning souls,
frontiers at the beginning of coming to an end.
The Universe:
gleaming membrane of time, the eternal root system, seeded, peopled
with complicated plots, instants of separateness,
the made shapes of words and minutes pregnant with meaning;
where each of us is kept awake, is transmuted,
by the same laws, the same gyroscope of evolution;
where each is driven to fate, like driftwood,
by the certain currents of their own heart.
Poetry of Other Worlds
01 Monday Jun 2026
Posted in poems
Poetry on the run 