Blue star beam
Slides by a smoky moon
Dances through Saturn’s rings
A lone abyssal tune
Lingers by the Jovian storms
Then on to lunar dust
Down through cool and silent sky
Drawn down and down like lust
Brief it touches silken skin
Pauses for a spell
Then down into the darkness
Of the iris that does swell.
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Motes of dust
So we have been described
Floating in the vastness of time and space
Small, inconsequential.
Dust motes made of dust from ancient dead stars.
Yet.
So far.
Amongst all we see,
the starfields of diamond dust,
the ancient piercing light,
the glowing, magical, wispy nebulae,
the rainbow rings of Saturn,
the storms of Jupiter,
the blinding light of supernova,
the singular dark of black hole,
world after world
galaxy after galaxy.
Nowhere have we found
yet
Anything that compares
to the complexity, the wonder, the intricacy,
the magic
of
the thoughts of you and I
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Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 