The Oracle gave me a handful of words that made an instant poem.
Night fishing
I went fishing for stars in the ferocity of the night,
searching for the sacred in the softness of the sky,
but there was no pool where brown trout slept,
no skim of shifting reflections beneath weeping hazels,
only an empty universe, rushing away from my questing hands,
the hurtle of bright pinpricks, no more than laughing gas.
The Four Swans 
Once again, a mirror to mine. The universe does seem like it’s rushing away, out of any possibility of grasping at all. (K)
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Yes, we’re just specks, the stars are just balls of gas, and what’s important, what’s within our grasp, we don’t care about.
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Or we don’t notice it, we’re so wrapped up in ourselves.
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Your first line is a stunner! And such a sense of loss.
Beautiful photo, too. 💙
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