Pushing the lawnmower, age 12, had a vision.
Peering overhead, through blue ceiling, enraptured,
deeper blue inviting beyond
into vast, ecstatic unknowable space,
Even so, all smaller then, only nine planets
some moons, asteroids, comets.
And wicked, chortling, comic book Martians,
Nightly robbing sleep, coming to kill me.
Three score years later, the rapture returned, directly overhead
Black-holed space, billions, trillions of stars, swirling galaxies.
Here no marvel, wars, numberless deaths, unmeasured pain, destruction.
At Bethany, He ascended—where to?
Beyond the mute galactic islands dotting unfathomed darkness?
Hearing no answers, below we wait, still, to be clothed with power.
Peering overhead, through blue ceiling, enraptured,
deeper blue inviting beyond
into vast, ecstatic unknowable space,
Even so, all smaller then, only nine planets
some moons, asteroids, comets.
And wicked, chortling, comic book Martians,
Nightly robbing sleep, coming to kill me.
Three score years later, the rapture returned, directly overhead
Black-holed space, billions, trillions of stars, swirling galaxies.
Here no marvel, wars, numberless deaths, unmeasured pain, destruction.
At Bethany, He ascended—where to?
Beyond the mute galactic islands dotting unfathomed darkness?
Hearing no answers, below we wait, still, to be clothed with power.
