Sure as a laser beam, you track your stars.
The hydrogen left from the birth of the Universe
Sings in your bones.
Around you galaxies are born, they die.
They spin and shatter and collide.
Their atoms dance a mocking, improbable dance,
Laughing at all of us,
Sure of nothing but death and entropy.
Your human mind is sure of more.
You look beyond their cloudy head
To that which cannot be seen.
I follow the light in your upturned face.
Poetess Lisa Yount lives at the northern end of San Francisco Bay, home of foghorns and seagulls.
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