Back in the saddle again.
Astride one of those nimble burros
wending in and out of the canyon,
toting the miner to his claim.
I huddle near the campfire, trying to plumb
the night sky with a 6' 2" pole.
In the body, You were small in stature
yet, powerful, they say. I believe them.
I've wrestled with You for thirty years
and have not won a single match.
I delve deeper into the shaft
with a lantern, pick and shovel.
Yet, I'll never come close
to anywhere near the core.
The silver is in the stars,
You say, mutely pointing.
You must burn white-hot
in the black empty;
burn the dross away
with your own innate source of fuel.
O child of God, stand mute and helpless
before the forces of which you have no conception.