Beneath the Sky

 

Stand church statue-still on a so-clear-it-sends-chills

down-your-spine night and you’ll feel

the Earth trembling beneath your feet, swooning

as she’s swept along in the Galaxy’s carousel waltz,

dancing with grace at a chaste, respectful distance

from its myriad sequin-starred partners.

Look up and imagine those pollen-thick, pinprick

suns as the flickering flames of lighters being

held aloft, waved from side to side

in the deep darkness of the Universe,

swaying in time to and celebrating the siren song

of the cosmos, and be glad,

glad that there is Wonder still, that

in this Internet Age, when life rages so wildly

around us, screaming its banshee cries

from rose-blush dawn to marmalade twilight

just by raising your tired eyes to the heavens

you can bathe and soothe them in beauty.

 

© Stuart Atkinson 2008

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