are, by recent reckoning,
as many pulsars on the shores of
whirling, spinning galaxies,
as atoms in the grains of sand
that lie beneath the roiling seas
of this, my home, and yours,
you winsome child,
And in those sparkling galaxies,
more elements than you can count,
more things celestial and bizarre,
than those we witness,
here at hand,or stand and wonder at afar.
I count them as you tend
and fix the tent
When this season of the sky
comes on a-pace, and you and I,
are here alone, and I begin
to wonder if the earth will spin;
or God's great clockwork, by and by,
will fall apart,
you smile just so.
You put your finger
to my lips,
and in a perfect sweet eclipse;
you touch me here
you tell me "shhhh..."
You reach right up,
you close my eyes,
and kiss me.