After “When I Am Among the Trees” by Mary Oliver
When I stand beneath the stars North, Dog, Scorpio, the Dippers even Venus and Saturn they darn my tattered faith scattered aboard the sky surely by design. What has distanced me, I wonder from edgy protest songs the heat of coffee house debates from the certainty of truths? Above me a star confides “You and I are but specks connected by less than spider’s lace, mysteriously made, complex yet synced to harmonize, to light dark corners, to seek balance for Libra’s weighty scales.”