The world opens, through the tiniest pin-pricks,
through obscure wormholes, through narrow spotlights,
scattering the dark. Then the enormous matrix
of separation parts like a curtain. The stage lights
up. And you are present. But why just you
out of the myriads. And why just now? Why this
concatenation of events that brought us to
mix our several substances in a kiss?
Is there a greater plan perhaps? Assignations?
Shadowy figures in the wings, who wait and come
In their own time, each bearing libations
from on high. Each a dispensation fro
the Source of All. How many are lingering and might
draw near-- but only as the light grows bright?