To fly with wings ablaze, the moth
cannot resist a flickering candle.
Inside the needle’s eye a growing universe.
Its constellations and galaxies need no scale.
You wonder how is the embrace you long for
that will set love on fire, split from all else.
Despite all the words written about
love and beauty, your silent gaze says it best.
The grasslands whisper, You have tasted
the sweetness of wind. You are the Universe.
From: A Meandering Search for
Innocence, Time, and Love
Unpub. MS p. 5
