There is this time
in the late night
or in the early morning
beyond distant early warning
when the human mind
becomes as narrowly focused
as lenses on a parabolic reflector
gazing in harmony at a star.
In these expectant hours
when the night is darkest
and the stars shine brightest
when we see right through to Heaven,
when men and women
cast off verbal complexities,
agendas and antennae,
and slip into a mindset
a little more comfortable,
in native, indigenous tongues,
sit in dishabille and converse
telegraphing galaxies in verse.
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