Closer

We are imperfect beings,

seeing pinhole visions of

the infinite and eternal--

more than a glance would

wipe us out. We don't get

to see it all, but we do get

windows opening and closing,

a curtain briefly pulled back,

a light flashing on, then off.

These are earned things, through

the movements of body and spirit,

empathy, love, hard work getting

us closer, but always still a

baroque of the ultimate,

apprentice visions, shadows of

a master, an outline of the

weightless dancer, a chorus of

angels carried lightly by breath

through a reed. The tune

is the same.

Star chasers, riding toward

mountains that seem static

but really do get closer.