We are the diligent companions of the stars,
and, while
turning years over,
we find yesterday talking to tomorrow.

Within the body tomb
what is inscribed
fills our heart
past the waking moments

until
those stars,
unfaithful guides to vision,
sparkle;
twilight drones
building stellar music
cycles.

Still
hope
is the hardest love
we carry.
It builds us,
muscled,
into isles
of desire;
fills,
marshals,
leads us
on.

We go
faith full,
filled,
brimming.