Polaris

We wrap ourselves in the finality  
of dusk, watch a headdress plunder    
the western spine of a bony forest –    
stegosaurus sun rooting its burial ground    
   
We blink and it’s gone, feel our way    
through mountain paths carved    
like the back of your hand –    
share a simple bowl of soup dipped    
with the crust of oven-baked bread    
   
Beyond the cabin window stars spin    
above a copse of trees, form a spiral    
pattern of color through glass panels,    
an interstellar portal of movement    
a worm hole for each new moment    
   
These quiet evenings are quilted    
blessings, hibernation from seasonal    
gatherings politely declined by a desire    
for the solitude of our own company      
unfolding the mystery of discovery    
   
This lunar space of warmth pulsing    
under Polaris, guiding us to the infant    
of a long-forgotten Truth softly stirring    
in the Manger of our very own heart