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A small world circling a distant red star,
known to me only by what its shadow
has allowed us to understand.

I know so little of it.

And still, I want to know more.

There is a strange greed in wonder
to see a light in the heavens
and ache because seeing is not enough.

To know.
To understand.
To reach.
To hold.

Yet there are works of God
I will never touch.

Stars whose light will reach my eyes
while I can never reach them.
Worlds I may spend a lifetime wondering about
and die knowing scarcely more than their names.

Perhaps that is part of their beauty.

Not everything loved must become ours.
Not every mystery must surrender itself
to be worthy of wonder.

The heavens existed before my longing
and will remain long after it.

And still I look upward.

“When I consider thy heavens,
the work of thy fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which thou hast ordained;

What is man, that thou art mindful of him?”

— Psalm 8:3–4

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How strange is desire
to love what I cannot reach,
and still desire more.

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