Outer Space
September 9, 2009I
The deep black vastness holds the
minute planets upon its airy palm.
The Illusionist’s breath weaves its magic,
a dream transpires through the mirror of mists.
A flick of the wand, a sleight of hand
Abracadabra nothing-to-something
tiger springing from a cage, rabbit out of a hat.
A green planet, a sonorous blue
Red as fire, black as ice.
A white winged wheel of stardust.
Poisonous wheeze of zephyr
lilts in the heavens. Mixed
with the dust of life
rises like a phoenix.
An absence of light
brings forth the darkness.
The sun stands in its altar!
Life-giving, life-taking.
Imbued upon each planet vividness
of life trickling down the silvery spine
of the milk of the galaxy. A facade
of death upon its scars of meteorite.
The space odyssey, to the unknown
like the first steps of the man on the moon
across the Magician’s palm.
More questions to answers
than answers to questions.
You’d never really know how alone you are
when you look at the stars.
II
The multitude of stars swimming in your eyes,
blackness staring into the unknown.
More questions to answers
than answers to questions.
It reminded me of how the universe was created.
The millions of gases, rock and dust came to form
the planets and the moons.
The white of Venus, the red of Mars.
The cold black ice of Pluto.
The rings of Saturn dancing in the stars
The right mix, the right temperature.
Not too cold, not too hot.
The exact distance from the sun.
The precise combination of brown,
green, and blue spread across
a sea of rainbow. Each picture breathing
the fire of life. Each unique. Sending
its offering upon the altar of the sun.
III
The millions of sperm swam
towards the shrine of birth.
To reach their sun and claim
what is rightfully theirs.
Like a lion pouncing on its prey.
A shot at life. A shot at death.
Glory goes to the one who swam the
hardest and the longest through the
poisonous fluids of its voyage.
A lack of motion meant certain death.
Like a champion running a race.
Each distinct, with its own
strengths and weaknesses.
With its own complexion, with its own memory.
But what comes out is you, and only you.
A name, a face, a race.
A John, a Bianca, a Tanaka, a Jose.
White. Black. Yellow. Brown!
Dark eyes, brown skin, pug nose.
The right size to till the farms,
the right size to reach the stars.
The right mind to create,
the right mind to destroy.
Each hand, each strand.
Each finger, each toe.
A part of a whole meant for the
Painter’s masterpiece.
One-of-a-kind! Offering itself to the universe.
It was a miracle.
It was magnificent.
It was real.
