Specks

When I was eight, the sky was big and stars winked at me.
My hands still caught and held fireflies-
A lightning bug harvest In a mason jar
And In my palms, the divine cosmos.

By ten, the white lights had lost their wonder-
I played in the stars' bucket spills, splashing light,
But I did not ponder.

In my adult life, everything whimsical
Gets explained away.
Bioluminescence becomes a process
Of chemical reactions-
Instead of bursts of God's breath.

My next starlight awakening comes as a surprise, then
When flipping through a doctor's office magazine,
I spy satellite photos from NASA's great adventures.
Bright burning gases
a negative print, more light than dark,
The cosmos redefined so specks of sky
Dotted the expanse of light.

And upon seeing it,
I could not ponder stars and their beauty-
only Him,
who formed them such.
A resuscitation of wonder.

When He said "Let there be,"
Out of the mouth of God,
came dippers and Orion's belt, the Pleiades-
A galaxy of Shapes and myths.

An exhale
And a way of milk spooled around a perfect marble blue-

I stole the magazine and taped the galaxy to my refrigerator,
So I remember, even on Tuesday,
we are not that consequential.
With a thumbnail, we could be blotted out.
And yet, I am named and numbered.
A firefly caught and held by holy hands.
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