A moment ago you were
a wanderer,
but here is home:

the void of sorcery
where all possibilities
dance and compete
for your dreams

when you, at last, slipped out
of the shivering, hard day
you borrowed for a minute.

You are pure spirit
in the dark,

and for a moment you
understand God as
you stand in a
fountain of stars,
meeting yourself
and loving the world

and all this drama
held in stillness,
this prayer without words,
too immense to ponder.

Within it,
nothing can be said.

So what was so
important that it
overwhelmed infinity
and seemed to turn
the cosmos into a
dazzling accident,
all chains and
freakish laughter?

Still the brazen, crackling
festival of galaxies
and truth
and gentleness
goes on,
and there's always more,
so much more . . .

The rest is just
tiny, earthly details

when you look up
and let go.


Patricia Joan Jones