Punctuating our night skies is the light from years ago.
past is present and present is past.
Are we the echoes of God or the universe?
Are we projected spirits in the bodies of woman and man and wonder?
In the warmth of breath, whisper against cheek
Souls as cosmic flaring fire
Summer breeze along palms and palm trees
Incessant rumbling comes in waves and saltwater
Sand shifting against time along the bottoms of small feet
Washed away in currents of explanation
Lost in the efforts of understanding
We punctuate our sentences with periods.
What difference does it make when the past is present in the light surrounding all of us
Little pinholes
As we gaze into the night sky
We exist within the infinite