So from inside, she sent me on my way,

to pave my path between poles of meaning
and action, effort, that two-lane byway
on which I'll amble when the sun's shining:
The night, I'll keep free, to look at the stars,
taking advantage of the clarity
of vision that isolation affords
the focused eye, in all sincerity:
If I could draw up a sky symphony
(where the stars are the instruments), I would
conduct with these same fingers that order
these words into bittersweet mystery:
I hear those crisp sounds that verge on madness
cross the line, making brilliance from sadness.
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