![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGAW337ZlJ78gDX2aZ6Yksik4i-cfNlZYPpOQ8C__AfByPMMiSSv3GBSVCfQBwgGkf9CzaFqiBQrKAW2BSS9UVeRYZp8ueuTm-OwpDlPTXz59GFqdOm8hJ-cvf741UGZD49aMUWlhUf054/s400/822f63fe7f2964d71356dab1a93cc188.png)
This must be
the answer.
The milky way
is your breath,
and your body
is made of starlight
from so far away
it only now arrives
in this world where
you are standing
with the whole night
inside your chest,
your thoughts
vanishing in
the bewilderment
of holy silence;
and having been
veiled, you unveil,
having dreamt, you
undream the past,
you open your palms
to let them hold
the sky with all
its invisible things
so weightlessly
delightfully
uncertain, and now,
at last you have
something to give.
Andrew Studer photo, Milky Way & Mt. Hood
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