The stars that were over my head this morning
were there from the First Day,
those stars I hid crook-necked from in cities
while traveling my wayward way.
Slowly at first, then faster,
I began to see, eyes blinded at first
by neon and streetlamps,
and the stars’ nights’ closeness only speaking
in a few forays into the midnights between cities,
bedazzling my eyes to see the jewels
darkness was strung with.
And always I wanted to stop
and enjoy and stare and pray,
but a motor inside me was going too fast
and in vans or cars
I sped back to cities
to undo my mind’s
tightly wound springs.
Then in a dozen years
I came out under the stars
and behold! The Canopy of Heaven
was still there,
and I murmured and prayed in valleys
like green cups for my love, and It said,
“You were too busy before,
but we have always been here
and we always shall be.”
That which I was to busy to love
patiently waited for me.
Now I have finished my business
and am free to love,
and the Morning Star’s song
has come to me with a joy
that had always been concealed
within my breast,
and the heavens have exploded
and the weeping
of the morning dew.