In the Fields on a Lunar Night by Thomas Martin Sobottke

In the fields we wait,
on a lunar night
for a miracle
with the moon full, wide, sassy and proud.

We feel the tidal tug of war
but cannot comprehend
what we do–
why we are.

He knows the whole of it.
The fall of a solitary sparrow
precisely the number of hairs connected
to the groans and pleadings of billions.
The beginning is the end and the end is the beginning.

Ethereal blue light coldly
enfolds us in mortal arms while
stars in their courses
remain eternally at their cosmic play.

Boundless and inscrutable,
we cannot remain where we are
but for the briefest sliver of time—
a moment to contemplate something more.
The advent of Emanuel–
right here in the fields on a lunar night.

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