Faith

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Dad lays on the ground
Stares at the stars and knows
There is no problem as great as what he sees —
The night sky blanketed by an infinite universe
Speckled by stars with solar systems of their own.

I lay on the ground,
Knowing I am not the center,
Nor in the center —
Wondering where my place is in a universe
Speckled by stars with solar systems of their own.

Dad worries,
“She might be a bit off, but she is mine,” I hear in
my mind.
It is nice to know I am loved
Even if I am just a bit crazy – the size of an atom
Compared to stars with solar systems of their own –

Full of their own odd thoughts
Beings who sort it,
Beings who never do,
Falling in and out of sorts
In solar systems with stars of their own.

Overwhelmed, I roll over at stare at moonlit grass
Wondering if the centipede wonders about me;
My needs, my thoughts, my sorts and out-of-sorts
moments.
He keeps walking, diligently, purposefully;
Toward what, I have no idea – perhaps it is in love.

Such a strange force of allurement
Which follows me wherever I go
Regardless of sorts in or out or inside-out —
I have no idea anymore; what need is there to
know?
The centipede continues to wherever it must be.

I roll to my side grab a cane and flex my arms
To lift a body which prefers to stay put.
By now the centipede has crossed a forest of grass:
I have only thoughts in my mind and close my eyes
Mid-stance to envision their purpose, but my mind
draws blank.

With a great heave and grunt I thrust up to my feet
And begin to walk away from the centipede.
There must be someplace I must be.
I shall walk until I find it
Under a blanket of stars with solar systems of their
own.

They will never know
My thoughts and troubles; so not too important —
This is right and okay; good to know.
“Keep moving,” I think to myself, “Something will
stop me, need me,”
Regardless of the blanket of stars with solar
systems of their own.