Tell me about your telescopes and what comes back
When your photon-intent gaze settles upon a patch of darkness-
Do you see nothing, do you see gradients of time, do you see a waiting-ness?
My own eyes cannot fathom the sky- I double over in a holy if unwhole incomprehension
Knowing the dark is a way of summing all I cannot know, after being wowed I bow in submission.
Yet the dark is a populated place, not just shoulder to shoulder with stars, but it is the canopy
Of a tattered tent for a million names
, voices murmuring in ancient rhythm with the winds
Homeless yet by heritage bound to soil proudly staked and blood-dabbed in bouts
Yet now drought-caked, cold tired huddled masses fenced in by barbed rhetoric
Yearning is for a suchness beyond the babe’s muddied face, it’s a gasping
Grasping for humanity upon cold shores, dim fires and inshallah charity
Bread, just bread, maybe currant juice, the children will take anything.
Tell me, what is darkness now, and what is lightness, and of you?
It is the bulk of the Universe, and the shield under which
Scores of refugees run for their very lives; your mystery
Is their shelter, their shelter is our perplexion, and
Even now the safest of us fall to the street for
Crumbs in the night, be they as stars-
For they shine as such as to grace
A moment of hope, may we all
Be so blessed as no one is ever
Safe from having to seek
Refuge, from ever
Having to be