Spiraling out in far-off galaxies,
a future unrecognizable,
vast and imperceptible
like the magnetic fields of earth,
subtle as the change of seasons
or the aging of a mountain,
a barely discernible shift
in how we pass each other on the street,
a knowing of belovedness,
mighty, without bounds or end,
a divine intent, heaven’s desire,
somehow weaving its root hairs
beneath our foundations, over
the heads of our politicians,
somehow, here, blossoms
in you.
—December 19, 2018