“Reveal the Stars” by Jane Beal

The clocks have all been set back.

We play with counting hours —

flipping the hourglass,

watching the salt sink

from heaven to earth.

All this time — I can’t

hold it in my hands,

even though my hands are open

and longing for

fulfillment.

If you even whispered,

near my ear,

I would hear your words

echoing in my heart,

but why now, silence?

Time opens so slowly,

like a flower, but not

one caught on time-lapse film,

not so that we would notice

a bud become a bloom.

So much more than what we see,

so much more than what we hear:

one touch, a thousand years,

another touch, a whole day,

a third and a fourth, eternity.

My prayers are minutes.

My prayers are songs.

I wish like a woman standing

beside a well, watching

pennies disappear in the water.

First, my face is reflected there,

then yours. It is afternoon.

The bees are making honey.

The birds are singing in the trees.

Night will reveal the stars.

Jane Beal

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