Sunday Songbirds Reveal

The Mystic Dance

The velvet throat of the abyss exhales,

A breath of ancient fire and frozen light,

Where distant galaxies, in silvered veils,

Gather to watch the chemistry of night.

In the solemn beauty of the star-born dust,

A mystic nuclear dance begins to spin,

Forging the iron, the oxygen, the trust,

That pulse beneath the surface of our skin.

We are the momentary expressions of the All,

Brief flickers in a house of endless rooms,

Answering the universe’s silent call

To flower briefly amidst the cosmic glooms.

It pushes us upward, restless and divine,

To spill our spirits into art and song,

To trace the heavens in a rhythmic line

And prove that we, the wanderers, belong.

We find the highest aspiration of our stay

In the simple warmth of hands held tight,

Sharing our glorious sparks before the gray

Dissolves back into everlasting light.

Do not mistake your stature for the small,

Nor fear the silence where the planets stop—

You are not a lonely droplet, after all,

But the entire ocean pulsing in a drop.