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 an 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, all its
worlds so weightlessly
delightfully uncertain
and possible. 
At last you have something 
to give.

Photo: Wally Pacholka