Waiting
To take measure of the dazzling
Fabric of the universe,
I wait out
Beyond the needles of the pines
For the pinholes to appear;
Many questions on my mind but
Only one of any substance—
How many light years will it take
For this threadbare body
To pierce the heavens
At the appointed hour
And disappear?
a question in solitude
ReplyDeletebeautifully written.
~robert
Echoing Robert.
ReplyDeleteThe single sentence poem is meant for eternities and universes and moonless nights beneath the pines.
And here its depth and subtlety in the hands of its master shine out.
Vassilis, I find myself asking this same question often these nights, though of the ceiling not of the pinholes in the night sky, and with minutes not light years as the time measure.
Thank you both--as for that same question matter, Tom, I know you're aware that I'm using the term "light years" figuratively--somewhat akin to "the sky's the limit"--and the more realistic time measure would be minutes but I got carried away with myself!
ReplyDelete