I embrace the fact that I’ll never understand the universe
like I did for the first time from our roof at nineteen.
A miniature kensho,
fueled by love at first sight. We belonged to each other, children
who stared in awe at the northern lights and floated
on the milky way’s convulsive drift.
A lone star perched on the mountain’s saddle now brings
tears of remembrance.
[…When reading Jim Harrison’s poem, I found each time I read “stared in fear at the northern lights” my heart objected. I long to see the Northern Lights and to experience the fear (awe) sites like that engender. Changing the sense of that phrase compelled me to reinterpret the sense of the original.]