Thursday, October 13, 2011
The sky, no matter how clear, isn't infinity.
Look up and bring down all that you know.
The eye isn't what allows the mind to see.
Faith is only what we guess from below.
In my dreams the balloon keeps going,
Beyond gravity, planets, the Oort Cloud,
Reaching motionlessness in space, owing
Nothing to speed or distance, allowed
A view, undimmed, of all of creation,
Its perfection, silent, replete, and empty.
There, at the center, is the universe's sun.
The eye, stared down by that blind sentry,
Can only blink and look the other way,
At my head, beneath, swinging on a tray.