When God cast the stars
in the interstellar sea,
was He considering Acontius and Cydippe
or, perhaps, you and me
adrift in our lifeboat
on an onyx surf of matter,
travelling light years per second
between now and hereafter?
Our courses were set long ago
by ancient mariners true,
spanning light years in moments,
keeping our paths askew,
except for infinitesimal chance
that God may have design
to bring our paths together
for the briefest of unwarped time.
Then out again we’re cast
into the reaches of unknown space
to contemplate destruction
lest we tinker with the pace
of propulsion to unknown stars,
black holes and quasars bright,
magnetically repulsing
what we’re certain cannot be right…
to ponder all these wonders
of science and of space
confined to our respective crafts
adrift and commonplace.
If God could but align
our purpose with His will
and give us leave to abandon ship,
would our courses diverge still?
Or might we peacefully return to Earth
after drops of Jupiter rain
a sea of diamonds shining
on an interstellar train?
Oh, what might we do with mutual paths aligned?
Perhaps you’d dance and I would write
all morning long, then take our leave
to love in broad daylight;
or wander in old Mykonos town
‘mongst the revelers of the night,
then safely swept from surly bonds
through black holes out of sight.
A hundred billion galaxies
of stars so tightly wound,
yet we, in our briefest instant
are not from paths unbound
by the laws of God’s attraction
to a sea of endless souls,
and we, there, drift among them
onto the rocky shoals
of life on this blue planet
while our brief candles flicker,
and sooner or later we, too,
shall hear the boatman snicker,
as we gather and embark
on our dark night of the soul
toward celestial choirs and family
who’ve come to greet, or to console.
But you, my dearest celestial friend,
seer of my weary soul,
in your splendid parallel universe
beyond the blackest hole,
Remember with your dying breath
this rarest of gifts we shared,
and I shall be with you once more
at the foot of Heaven’s stairs.
in the interstellar sea,
was He considering Acontius and Cydippe
or, perhaps, you and me
adrift in our lifeboat
on an onyx surf of matter,
travelling light years per second
between now and hereafter?
Our courses were set long ago
by ancient mariners true,
spanning light years in moments,
keeping our paths askew,
except for infinitesimal chance
that God may have design
to bring our paths together
for the briefest of unwarped time.
Then out again we’re cast
into the reaches of unknown space
to contemplate destruction
lest we tinker with the pace
of propulsion to unknown stars,
black holes and quasars bright,
magnetically repulsing
what we’re certain cannot be right…
to ponder all these wonders
of science and of space
confined to our respective crafts
adrift and commonplace.
If God could but align
our purpose with His will
and give us leave to abandon ship,
would our courses diverge still?
Or might we peacefully return to Earth
after drops of Jupiter rain
a sea of diamonds shining
on an interstellar train?
Oh, what might we do with mutual paths aligned?
Perhaps you’d dance and I would write
all morning long, then take our leave
to love in broad daylight;
or wander in old Mykonos town
‘mongst the revelers of the night,
then safely swept from surly bonds
through black holes out of sight.
A hundred billion galaxies
of stars so tightly wound,
yet we, in our briefest instant
are not from paths unbound
by the laws of God’s attraction
to a sea of endless souls,
and we, there, drift among them
onto the rocky shoals
of life on this blue planet
while our brief candles flicker,
and sooner or later we, too,
shall hear the boatman snicker,
as we gather and embark
on our dark night of the soul
toward celestial choirs and family
who’ve come to greet, or to console.
But you, my dearest celestial friend,
seer of my weary soul,
in your splendid parallel universe
beyond the blackest hole,
Remember with your dying breath
this rarest of gifts we shared,
and I shall be with you once more
at the foot of Heaven’s stairs.
Photograph & digital editing, H.J. McEnroe