Thank you: So glad you enjoyed the poem. It was originally written in 1983, has been reworked, and here it is. I did originally take some inspiration from Candle in the Wind (very little) but nonetheless it is there. I shall ponder your thoughts. Much appreciation for the comments :)
I can't thank you enough for: I can't thank you enough for taking the journey with me and leaving such radiant footprints. They are poetry itself! So honored by your support.
It's a privilege to be a part: It's a privilege to be a part of your fascinating journey and your crucial mission. You have made a difference and yes, God, the angels and your dear friend in Heaven, rejoice.
April Snow arrives like an: April Snow arrives like an unwelcome guest, yet the poetic narrator gently surrenders to its surprise.
What begins as disruption becomes a sacred invitation, a ritual disguised as weather.
The awkward snowfall lures them from artifice into raw presence,
where even light moves like a “liquid shaman” descending to heal.
In that hush, the chiseled smiles and scripted connections of their other life melt quietly away.
The snow, once resented, becomes grace, blessing the speaker in a soft, unrequested baptism.
By the end, this isn't just a seasonal anomaly, but a moment of inner transformation:
a communion with mystery. And the soul, anointed, walks forward into understanding.
Your words trace orbits of:
Your words trace orbits of their own; thank you for launching such warmth into my little corner of the cosmos. To know that "After the Comet" landed with someone attuned to the quiet majesty of the heavens makes the whole poetic trajectory feel worthwhile. I’ve always believed that what some call random motion (ellipses and echoes) is often where meaning hides, waiting to be witnessed. You’ve done just that, and I’m deeply grateful, Starward-Led, for your constellation of kindness.
This comment means so much to: This comment means so much to me that, before I burst into tears, I have downloaded your words to my laptop. Do you realize that you have put a great perspective on a secret sorrow I have carried over four decades. If I can help one couple come together without regard to homophobia, perhaps he, in Heaven, will be pleased with me. Giving me that to hang on to, and even work into my daily prayers when I can, is one of the greatest things you have ever done for me. And for my Stephen, whom I should have loved better and openly.
More than valuable, your: More than valuable, your words settle like dew on the altar—each sentence a benediction in itself. To be read so deeply, and with such reverent ferocity, is to be seen in a way few poems dare hope for. "Crossings" was an attempt to name the many departures we survive, the rituals we build to return to ourselves, and the joy that refuses to wait for permission. That you walked it not just as a reader, but as a co-witness, means more than ink could say. Thank you for meeting the poem where it lives—in breath, in silence, and in becoming.
There’s no doubt that he: There’s no doubt that he waits for you with nothing but understanding and unconditional love. And wearing sheer socks, of course.
We have all made choices we’re not proud of, but this poem and many others offer purpose, courage and valuable art to others. Never underestimate that gift. God bless.
I am stunned and humbled by: I am stunned and humbled by your sublime interpretation of this poem. I love how you defined the event with sharp precision, breathtaking clarity and your signature, piercing insight.
Your support means more than you know.
A spinal injury, five years: A spinal injury, five years ago, has skewed my lower nerves so that I can barely walk, but the pain in my legs is amplified beyond what I could have imagined. This poem definitely describes pain with an authenticity that can almost be felt on the screen.
As I witnessed, spellbound,: As I witnessed, spellbound, this literary miracle that moved like wind-blown feathers and somehow, simultaneously, leaped in theatrical flight, I could only think: Yes! Exactly!
Exactly.
Each verse encapsulates, with meticulous power, the passages of life that are unique yet collectively shared, and in language so out-of-the box eye-opening that you seemed to have reinvented eloquence.
“The Sigil” was indeed magick (Yes, with a “k”) and again: Exactly! It registered so deeply I wanted to cheer.
“part wing, part wound, part word” Wow!
And then the self-realization, the awakening, the acceptance of your evolution and authenticity in words so pure and euphoric. Now that’s art.
“The Blessing” Exactly. Here there’s a poem within a poem, a proverb, that rests at the feet of enlightenment and perfect balance. Embracing our True Self, we are free to love.
And just as I finished unwrapping those devastatingly beautiful gifts, I read, in the fifth part, what every naturalist should aspire to create: simplicity, a gentle dialogue with the Earth, becoming, for a moment, the voice of creation.
Ok, I know this is getting long, but since my time is limited, be assured that I wouldn’t be tunneling so deep into a poem that didn’t expand and challenge and completely capture me.
The image you chose to close the poem with was impeccable and spoke volumes about what a successful life truly is. The resplendent simplicity, the triumph of contentment, the open-ended happiness, was a crescendo and a hymn.
It doesn’t get better than this.
Sunday evening going into: Sunday evening going into Monday morning has brought to my browsing eyes to of the finest poems I have ever read since I began reading Poetry in 1973; and this poem is one of tbose two. The robe of stars . . . walking barefoot into a wild life . . . and laughing so hard the stars come nearer: these three phrase are the triangled pillars on which ths poem rises into its verbal magnificence. The only two failures are the title, and the final two lines---far too much like Elton's maudlin song and therefore the reader loses the greatness of the poem. But this is so easily fixable, and the poem can begin and end on its inherent stellar greatness.
I think I have already told: I think I have already told you I love astronomical poems, and this one delivers all the morsels that constitute a veritable vernal banquet. I applaud the way you extract such signficance from event many ignore or ascribe to the mere chance of orbital intersections and ellipticals. You are a major talent on this site, and I applaud your accomplished skill as evidenced in this poem.
Reading this as a mythic:
Reading this as a mythic interruption, of light that intrudes, dazzles, and then departs.
May this response acknowledge that what we witnessed was not just brightness,
but a kind of quiet grief: the fleeting miracle of being seen, together.
It reflects on the comet not as spectacle, but as elegy—
an arc through darkness that becomes memory as it vanishes.
And yet, for that brief moment, we looked upward and remembered what wonder feels like.
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