It's not that the stars are pretty;
It's that they walk with you, uncomplaining.
The moon's hue delights,
Hums ochre and whispers blue;
Duck your head but it's over.
It's not that the earth is round
But that it meets itself,
Every inch a greeting.
It's not that you and I
Are here and there;
It's that we are
over under between going
through and around and into.
Motionless is myth; if the
Universe was atmosphere we'd
Die against the wind.