Communion

LAST night I came alone across the January snows.

Pausing in the soundless midnight, I looked upon the stars.

The stars were flashing. Millions of stars were flashing in the swarthy, boundless blue—

millions of miles away,

millions of miles apart—

and no one stood beside me,

and no one beneath the stars awaited my approach.

I murmured—“I am glad that no one stands at my elbow.

I am glad that what I have craved is buried in the snows.

I am glad that all my clamorings are as quiet as the winds.

I am glad that all whom I have loved are as distant as the stars.

Men bind themselves with their right hands, and, with their left hands, tug at the bonds.

Men huddle together like ants that they may soar like eagles.

They are buried in the snows.

They are as distant as the stars.”