Laying on my back beneath stars
galaxies and glowing gases
I think of the Creator.
There is no end, nor beginning.
There is no touchable ceiling.
Earth roams a mysterious-muted void
around a young star, quietly roaring.
My mind cannot wrap around infinity
nor the atrocious chasms of outer-space.
What about a 4th dimension?
I’ll just listen to the canyon wind
singing to my ancient soul
beneath those candled skies.