Blossoms on the great oak quiver,

 

As you speak.

 

I see your face,

 

You are nothing.

 

All fades away,

 

My wonder.

 

You are among the stars,

 

And the quip upon my illness.

 

I reach to you,

 

You are endless.

 

In a midnight sky,

 

Blackness surrounds me—

 

And envelopes you.

 

You spin around me,

 

I breathe you in.

 

As you extend and offer,

 

A branch of solemness.

 

Extended against a grey sky,

 

Another star in the universe.

 

Time goes by so fast,

 

Yet passes like wintertime’s past—

 

Free and wild,

 

Smooth as the air I inhale,

 

And breathe you out.

 

I’d wait for tomorrow,

 

If tomorrow had no end.

 

I’m chasing your star,

 

For, all I see is you.

 

You are you,

 

But a star.

 

In the night sky,

 

As the planets turn.

 

Colliding through the universe,

 

Careening through the atmosphere.

 

The branch I offer has died,

 

Along with my soul—

 

Lingering with my death.

 

You are a microcosm,

 

Spinning around me.

 

Forever there,

 

In a box.

 

A big picture sits,

 

I wait for you.

 

My dreams linger,

 

Of some higher meaning.

 

The Milky Way spins around me,

 

As I sit and dream about you.

 

You are in and of itself,

 

A mystery—

 

Invoking the meaning of my life.

 

You are dressed in nakedness,

 

Yet clothed in the light.

 

I call out for you,

 

The brilliant moon shines bright.

 

Brighter than the stars,

 

That shines brightly too.

 

A meadowlark calls,

 

There is more to life—more to death, than itself.

 

A microcosm,

 

Of what life and death, doth mean.