While at a wintry bus stop,
my gaze ascended to the sky
as to the heavens, great city of God.
The citizens of Heaven in their splendor
observed my predawn vigil with bright regard.
The starry host bid me wonder.
Can this glorious realm be naught but desolation
bleak ice, dead rock, roiling gas, and empty space?
Are clouds of dust the only things that move
between the cosmic lamps of heaven?
Is all vast space sterile, devoid of life?
Or are the stars attended by verdant worlds?
Can these strange planets be harbors for life?
Could such living creatures strive for purpose,
to partake of some grand angelic song ordained
by that majestic presence that forged the stars?
I would soar to the heavens to join the great journey,
seeking the majestic one, the great star-maker.
With brother beings diverse, with sister beings sublime,
with angels in strange guises, I would travel
ever upward to ultimate glory.
But now the bus arrives, and I must go
to take my place in life’s race and mind my place.
Yet as I steel myself this working day to face,
surely, I know I will look up again and wonder.
