Poetry: Truth

 Nothing is stable. 

Truth is not a solid thing

we can count on.

Nor is the pure invention of mind.

Science is not a discovery

but a method of exploration- 

a turning of results into best-scenarios-

 a finding until knowledge is found
Once again 

It is a wandering really into night- 

like those long-ago astronomers- 

Were they magi or magicians? 

Or worshipers of fire? 

There is more than one way to study stars-

those gaseous balls of imploding fire

penciling sketches across the sky-

You could make of your body a pillar of light

Or write a column for the Sunday Times- 

People have died for both: Truth

and star-crossed Love.

Some believed they’d landed

on predestined shores.

But even there, the greeting

was not the expected- 

the child in straw, more humble

than prophets foretold

Is there magic here- 

Or is the seeking and finding

a way to go and keep going

through each new unfolding?

This is not the time 

to be certain. 

If you arrive

greet the moment with wonder.

Don’t stick a flag in it- 

but bow down,

bring it gifts