The starlight from eons net over us
as perfectly as the violets' breathing
over fallen leaves.
The particularities have
become dark shapes
I walk by down the lane,
beneath the lambent aura
with no moon for company.
The breeze scarcely stirs
what is seen and unseen,
the edges of what is known
and what is unknown.
We only need to step out
on any night
to receive what is given:
deep light from deeper time,
a universe far younger
than its years,
God unlatching
the gate of Himself;
the gate of heaven.
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