Alicia Viguer-Espert

Cosmic Questions

 

I return from the cosmic excursion

of the first pictures from the Webb Telescope

to declare them beautiful, mysterious and

also, that I’m not ready to travel any further.

 

Though dark spaces call me in

I’m afraid to dive into uncharted depths

thick with nothingness stretching into

a vastness ocean like when we swam

under a full moon, in waters slick like oil.

 

We folded our legs to avoid octopus,

and when kelp wrapped around our legs

we screamed in terror at the unknown.

I cannot recognize empty spaces

 

of blackness as anything I’d wish

to explore, even when hidden scientists

tethered to earth inspect silver screens,

enthusiasm oozing through their foreheads,

holding data more sacred than God.

 

In meditation the mind expands through

those territories; the cosmic ones belong

to spirit and the spirit reflects the cosmic

lands which embrace all that it exists.

 

Then, why this fright about infinity?

from where does this quivering emerge?

this panic of death, dread of suffering,

cold sweat felt when losing loved ones?

I peek at more familiar views of Orion,

 

La Vía Láctea from which the gravity

of our problems dissolves like sugar

in a cup of coffee, nothing weights,

or means anything, only eternal light

from the soul carries significance.

 

 

 

Cosmic Distances

 

Rough tongues from pine cones

spoke to me in tongues, what else?

Not belonging to the Congregation

I could not understand a word.

 

Our tongues stopped communion,

dried out like old fallen cones,

making impossible to comprehend

the liturgy of our sacred ceremonies.

 

It’s been a while since you’ve been home.

that casa whose walls we painted

the color of bread and butter,

potted geraniums never bloomed,

and garden’s lizards not only ate

insects but all tender greens. 

 

My most precious treasure, the orange tree

I imported from Spain, died suddenly

five minutes after your announcement.

If that wasn’t enough, yesterday the rain

soaked the carton boxes where I kept

your letters and 20 folded love poems.

 

Clouds, tea leaves, a gypsy palm reader

foretold the death of our potted garden.

Like planets held in place by gravity,

the universe conspires to keep us apart,

nevertheless, we’re always aware

of the proximity of our orbits, mostly

to prevent a heavenly collision.