I approach the translucent window,
a milky opacity locking tight its hinges.
Vainly I press forward, reaching
for the soft sill on which to rest my hand.
With a bare warning, I am there,
peering out on a foggy new realm.
I crook my finger, one click or two–
the fog dissipates, melting into cool clarity.
A pale pregnant moon hangs in a wine-drop sky.
Splayed limbs of a redbud tree throb and pulsate,
striving to obscure the yellow orb resting behind.
Some brief cloud cover textures the firmament.
Stricken by the beauty, a thought blossoms:
No wonder the soul resides in a universe of its own.