All through the darkness, we carry the light.
It goes where we go and cannot be extinguished.
If we disappear, it still sits
watch in a window, bearing witness to
our lonely sacrifice, shining into
the eyes that see. That is the history
of all things. Through the darkness, we sail on
a courageous song like a fire breathing
dragon. It's not that hard, if you laugh at
the total absurdity of following
the moon's finger around and around
her empty bowl of sorrow. Forget the
stomping stars. They aren't going anywhere
you won't be allowed to follow--as long
as you have the heart for it. Go ahead.
Make a wish. It can't hurt. Angels hear everything,
but they are only human. They
also make mistakes. They wage war. Poets
notice these kinds of things. Like in all the
poems in all the world, I wonder how
any of that's supposed to tell you I
love you now more than ever. All through the
great sadness, we lend an ear to a secret
story that could not take place without
us. It's you and me, wherever we are.