Northern Lights

Nov,21, 2025

 

He told me he had seen the aurora hundreds of times.
I have never seen it once.
I imagine making love beneath the northern lights
at the very instant of arrival,

under its dazzling green veil of lights,
I fly toward the ancient universe.

That night, around three or four a.m.,
I rose to search for a comet,
and set up my camera in the darkness.
Beneath the vast sky of stars, 

between the vast heavens and the vast earth
there was a small me.
I had my language, and I had my thoughts,
but at three or four in the morning

beneath the vast sky of stars,
I did not know with whom to talk to.

Between the heavens and the earth, 

beneath the star-filled sky, 

near the trees, 

there was a small me.
I had my language, and I had my thoughts,
but at three or four in the morning,
in the moment of waiting for the comet, 

I trembled.

Why do I have language? And why do I have my thoughts?
For there, in my helpless searching,
I could not find any words 

to align with that moment.

My sensations were immense,

but my thoughts and language trembled, 

at their own paleness,
unable to face the enormity of the universe.
They fled in panic, scattered and lost, 

without any refuge.

I raised my head high, 

high enough,
that the corner of my eyes could no longer see the earth,
high enough to leave behind my language and my thoughts,
high enough to let my eyes fully embrace the starry night, and

high enough to fly toward the ancient universe.

He once told me he had seen the aurora hundreds of times.

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