On Filaments and Firmaments

Every night when Lady Luna
beams across the wooded steep
after daily clamor dwindles
and the children fall asleep
Emma comes to tend the garden,
kiss the flowers, and commune
with the fairies, imps, and pixies
frolicking beneath the moon.

Emissaries of the spirits
spawned before the planet’s birth,
Emma and her sisters hover
gently on the edge of Earth
in the space between confusion
over what we’re doing here
and The Realm That Knows Forever
liberated from the sphere.

She is but a fleeting image
of the fiber that connects
all the multiverse’s secrets
to the path that intersects
with the pattern of Creation
spreading from a single source,
infinite beyond description,
dauntless on its chosen course.

Someone waited in the shadows
half the night to capture proof
in a picture we can study,
then she vanished in a poof,
so I left this verse for Emma
in a scented envelope
thanking her for nightly visits
sprinkling peace and feeding hope.


© 2019 Mary Boren

(with thanks to the unknown photographer)

The Poet
Ode to the House that Raised Me