If you peel back the moon, you’ll find the skin of the universe, its matter and veins, the thick pulse of its wonder hitched to starlight and memory, dense with age and aging, patterned after a snowflake, petals of a flower, white ribs of desert dunes. If you cut into the yellow rind of a melon, you’ll taste the red- iron earth, smell sweet water of a stream, tempered by salt and sweat of an old farmer who leans to rest against his hoe and falls back to gaze at a cloud that appears as a galloping horse. If you feel the wind in your eyelashes, regard the bitterness of a refugee child’s tears and still feel hope in the necessity of your breath, you can begin to comprehend the certainty of stones, the persistence of trees.
Dark
Light
Comprehension
by Persis Karim