We are comets, you and I,
Making our way through a cosmos of memories.
Forgotten kisses are tenuous nebulae,
Fevered embraces are meteors burning before they explode.

(A conversion of energy.)

For eons, we travel our separate trajectories,
Pulled hither and thither by forces both
Within and without us.
We seek new arrangements of the stellar bodies,
And orbit a different star, for a time,
Or wing past a new planet.

But then…

Flung ever forward by forces known and unknown,
We are again in the same galaxy
The same quadrant
The same star system;
And, finally, warmed by the same light, we fly by one another.
Then, the florescent nebulae and burning meteors of our past
Are recalled.
And, for a moment, we wish our mad paths through the universe
Were the same.

But we believe our trajectories to be beyond our will,
And so, they are.

Thus, the planets and suns pull us separately.
Thus, we obey, leaving our comet-trails behind us,
To the next orb that calls us.
Putting again to rest
The nebulae, and the meteors.

And no tears are shed,
For we are made of ice and rock.
Yet we dream of warmth
And of the softness and touch of life.

Perhaps within these frozen and rigid forms
We do yet yearn
To fly together.

February 27, 2013, Los Angeles



Who Can Read The Future?

Who can read the future?

Happiness is the world’s White Bird, that alights seldom, and flies fast and far till one day he is lost in the clouds.

Therefore should we hold him fast if by any chance he rests for a little space upon our hand. It is not wise to neglect the present for the future, for who knows what the future will be?

Let us pluck our flowers while the dew is on them, for when the sun is up they wither and on the morrow will others bloom that we shall never see.

– H. Rider Haggard, from Allan Quatermain, 1887