Into The Mystic (Astrology)Astrology
(Brian Michael Tracy)
If I could pour myself into a cradle, waiting
or squeeze like cheese through the eye of a needle
I would lie down, fall upward
in half integers of time
rest my head on a cloud
and watch the stars live their lives.
Watch them appear and disappear,
arrange and re-arrange with the seasons,
and connect them as dots (look – over there a lion –
and over there a hunter with two dogs!)
searching always for the face of God.
I would close my eyes and listen
to their soft cries cascade over me
like notes from a harp
as they turned themselves into white dwarfs
the size of sugar cubes.
Put them in my tea
and watch them dissolve
spilling over the edge of my cup
past the ends of my table,
spreading like wind, like the sound of wind
across yards and fields, forests and oceans
simply bending, as light does, like prayer
when it reaches the horizon
seeking the shortest path home.