Miracle

You arc the lightning 

from origin to destination 

it is not in me to wonder

how it is done 

how my words travel over

your bridge of power

and light

and are reflected

where in other spaces

they are unheard or lost.

A miracle is itself 

for some reason the gods

wish for you to hear me

even when I whisper

even when I lie here

after midnight 

talking to myself.

I cannot deserve the gift of it

or understand why it is given

or fear it’s loss

I float on your glimmering bed

drinking from the 

chalice of exaltation 

whispering poetry.

You are the night

the infinite cradle

the king of dreams 

and your arms wrap about me

trailing with stars.