I had a vision of the moon, beautiful and sublime:
Beautiful in that it is so near,
Sublime in that it is so far.
It could have fit neatly on my tongue.
But I was afraid:
It would have burnt through my head.
It glides swiftly North through fixed and immutable clouds,
Yet ever stays before my eyes.
Each immutable cloud passes out of sight as we sail along.
I felt the wind that it struggled against in my soul.
My ears heard deafening silence as it persevered and strove,
Sometimes being illuminated by the clouds,
Sometimes hidden, but always coming through in the end.
Finally it comes to rest when it had conquered all.
Finally I wake up and close shut my eyes.
I no longer feel the cold cement beneath my head.
His Spirit burns within me.
