We just catch glimpses of it
Fleeting fury of life’s understanding
Awareness of something familiar
We do not know at the cusp
Of our time to expire
From an unknown source we
Claim to own . . .
Faster than Light
Its surface is a matte of clarity
We cannot fathom and its
Course is soft, at first, to the
Touch, instilling in us a love
We try to honor
© K. James Ribble