In Praise of the International Space Station

O wandering brilliance--
Avatar of our pilgrimage
Toward ourselves,

How the point of light in me
Rose to meet you
As you soared

A motive star

Across the scrim
Of the suburban night sky;

What you showed me

Was myself:
A frail enclosure
Moving across vastness

Containing life
Crossing paths
With other
Translucent vessels

On a journey that
Appears linear, finite,

But is in fact
Eternal . . .

--Mr. Gobley

1 comment:

karen said...

it's Spring, mr. g!!
Send a little Praise of
green grass and apple blossoms
my way? Please?

I miss your poetry:0).