Borealis

The red life of the Sun

is traveling somewhere cold,

going along wildly, room 

to room, from planet to planet,

pouring out answers to

questions I never knew to ask

while huddled here in

electric nearness with my ancestors

three thousand years old.

They understood the sky

is a parade and we all have

a flume of light trapped inside

our bodies, seeping out time

from time to remind us that

not everything that moves

in the dark is a monster.

Sometimes wonder can devour us too

with evidence that the world is still

mysteriously good and stubbornly beautiful.