I stand on tiptoes, reaching out,
My outstretched hand with fingers splayed
Can almost touch the magic orb
That dances just beyond my grasp.
His face is wide and smiling
And wrinkles cris-cross with care.
He's looked down upon us,
So many stages of our lives
And yet there is no judgment
No court, no final decree.
He watches with dispassion
As we live, and love, and die
And no matter how hard l try
I'll never be able to touch his face.
After I'm long dead and gone
He'll still fill the sky benignly
Giving us nothing more than
His shining, halcyon visage
To inspire poetry, love and dreams.

August 3, 1999