Like the petals of a flower open out to the day,
Offering its small fragrant prasad into the greater perfumed pool.
So inner space merges with outer space.
You who thrust your brilliant machines towards infinity,
Scouring the skies with techno eyes,
Will discover only empty spheres to discuss,
There is no umbilicus.
Drowned in the sound of ‘Lift Off’
You cannot hear the gentle susurrus below from where you launch
Which whispers “ Go wherever you’re going, but I am here”.
It whispers too from beneath
those calcified boulders of calculus within you.
Longing for poetry to excavate
This inner truth, that it may bloom
And break the surface,
Emerging into the pregnant, all embracing grace
of outer space.
by Marilyn Leate