is like time traveling,
light reaching our eyes
from distant nebulae
that may, by now, no longer
exist. The radiance
they emit navigates
an ocean of space
over millions of years,
showing up on Earth to
play a part in our cosmic show,
one point in a constellation's
connect-the-dot pattern or
a bright and solitary pinprick
in the universe's
velveteen fabric.
That's how it is
when I look in your
face; instead of
blots and wrinkles
earned from a life
well spent, the image
I see comes to me from
years ago. I gaze
back in time
at a person who
saw the future,
convinced me
to be deeper than
superficial swagger,
captured my heart,
still holds it
in her hands.
(c)Bill Glose 2008
published in The Poet's Domain, Vol 24
Live Wire Press, Charlottesville, VA
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