Our Eyes are an apathetic acceptance

of the myriad of varieties with our grasp.

The Cosmos, so far away appears 

within our fingertips as if it’s

The Sand flowing from our Hands;

Drifting, drifting away in the wind,

Across, from the Heart’s oblivion.

Sight can only encapsulate the surface—

Merely the surface of object reality

Takes place not within our eyes but

Within the very being of this heavenly status.

As if we are not the observers or spectators

But we the stars themselves;

Illuminating the cold with our short-lived

Virtuosity, touching the untouchable,

Like waves drifting closer

And closer to

Infinity.