Poetry

(in answer to Anne Sexton)
 
With stars exploding above my head
the moon creeping
as a large yellow ball in to the heights
there is no sight
of the unseen serpent
striking at the light,
neither does it roar our with flaming breath,
nor do I see it causing any death,
only do I see the hand of God
in the intensity, the pleasure
of the sparkling shiny things
as a minutely small human being
against the enormity of it all.
 
[Reference: “The Starry Night” by Anne Sexton.]