You might just fall in love with galaxies only visible
in the middle of the night. I’d like to invite you to test
this theory out, to crack open its subtleties, to smudge
along the scars. The present happens right in front of you
and so close to your face it evades your consciousness
even as it ekes out years, clipped to the soft side of your body,
wedged into a buttonhole and sliced so thin you start to see
yourself as sticky clumps that tangled up a long, long time ago.
We simply carry out our tasks, condemned to flit like shadows
through a hallway filled with things that can’t be captured
or expressed. The program suddenly stops working
and you’ve wasted your career without so much as
a breakthrough while the shoulders of Orion become
ever more conspicuous and recognizable in the Northern
winter sky. Herding the spirit of his prey long after
everyone’s gone home, he has experienced the beauty
of another kind of life, a life so carefully designed
it can be seen on moonless nights by just the naked eye.
Who are you to say eureka as you reach out to embrace it?