The mind can take flight into the world,
because it is not purely of the world . . .
Why do we wish upon a nonexistent star?
We know the star is gone, the light just now arriving.
Then why, O Mind, do we not wish upon the light?
Why do we lie both to ourselves and others, why
do we not value more the facts you would supply us
and make the bravest and most honest use of you,
you burning glory in the darkness of all time?
Why do we mock our truest selves and glorify
the sad bear of the body, locked in gravity,
O glorify the little leaps that it can make,
when you soar through the universe, a rocket ship,
you your own torch, and looking for the cosmic key
with which to unlock all existence in a phrase
or elegant equation, speaking like a god,
explaining everything in terms your partner, Heart,
retarded, slow, but pulsing, an idiot-savant,
can bear to beat his muscled drum for and be gay?
O Mind, you bravest human part, you essence us,
and lift us off our feet in flight toward the stars,
and are our pilot in the windshear night to port,
and so I sing your praises all my days, O Mind!