The Answer
This must be the answer. The milky way is your breath. You are made of starlight from so far away, it only now arrives in your body. Barefoot in wet moss, you gaze into the glitter of midnight unnaming the creatures. Full moons float on the ocean in every cell of your bones. This wild and holy silence is your only religion. It is called, "Bewilderment." Having been veiled, you unveil, and having dreamt, you undream the past and future. Opening your palms, you hold the sky, with all its worlds so weightlessly, delightfully uncertain and possible. At last you have something to give. Photo: Wally Pacholka