I Sing the Kosmos Electrick

My Sweet Girl,

I hear nothing in my ear but your voice. I hear it in all things. I see it take shape, in the world around me.
In the melodic patterns of flying things. . . .A flock of birds, having taken flight upon being startled by the crack of a
stick underneath my feet. . . .
Falling leaves, blown by the wind and spiraling slowly in and out of my reach. . . .
My path, as it opens before me, leading to all possibilities and all other paths, intersecting the routes and rotations of beings and galaxies. . . .
Doorways and openings, portals leading beyond what I know. . . . Even here your voice guides me. . . .
Through the Outer Courts of the Temple, and past the veils. . . . and to the entrance to your Holy Place. . . .
Gates. . . .bridges. . . . empty corridors and labyrinths. . . . stairways, spiraling into Infinity.
The Summit of things. . . .Cathedral spires. . . . altars. . . . mountaintops. . . .
The temple of your body. . . .

Your eyes. . . .

Reflections, the visual echoes of something seen. . . . Mirrors. . . . Shadows. . . . The Shadow that pursues me. . . .
Old photographs, the images of time past, now present in the viewing. . . .
Images of keeping time, and time passing. . . . hourglasses. . . . clocks. . . . stopwatches. . . . yesterday’s entry in my notebook,
now thrown away in the trash. . . .
Spiraling things. . . . galaxies. . . . mandalas. . . . the ripples in a puddle as I watch the rain fall. . . .
The streak of lightning that precedes a thunderclap. . . . tornadoes. . . . tsunamis. . . . whirlpools and waterfalls. . . . crescendos
in nature, all. . . .
I see them there before me, and your voice resounds in and above them all.
The scenes of my life, laid out before me and connected to every story that has ever been told. . . .
The constellations, weaving that story in white light across the firmament. . . .
You and I, engaged in a kiss. . . .
Oh yes, I remember your voice, my sweet girl.