Art by Norman E. Masters
|You are the novas,|
bits of myself
shed from the soft cast edges of my mind
and all the long gone thoughts of kin and kind.
Beloved ones, spin outward to more perfect space
I will not know your galaxy
except that part conceived
deep in the dreams of heart,
the heart which dreaming with a wanting,
wishful eye, sees far beyond the walls
which square this room of time
into a distant, brighter dome of sky.