A Repeated Request. Poem by Stephen S. Yeandle

The ancient question declared once again;
Who are we and
I?

A primordial howl from a silhouette wolf;
at home in the silver moons night.

High on an Appalachian ridge overlook,
In the land of the Cherokee tribes.

A cliché for sight?

Yes, but of course just the same,
He speaks for us all when he communes with the stars,
from these earth science mountains
the oldest of all.

A sky filled with quasars immeasurably far; the empty black hole in our Milky Way, so immeasurably large.

From 'Sagittarius A.' comes
a 'light echo' parade,
a ricochet that plays
with the thought’s of us all.

A moveable feast beyond our reach,
like chasing your hat in gale.

Yes the wolf will continue to speak for us all.

Perhaps in time, a galactic response;
how fine that night shall be...