The Three Moons of Galileo
by Phonacelle Shapel
Come, my brother, and take my hand
for we must go back to Galileo where
the three moons rise and the winds that blow
are older than the millennium
Where you and I stand upon the world’s rim
beneath the skies of Galileo and
the ancient mist swirls like ghosts
upon the ebb of time
Come, my brother, and take my hand,
for we must go back to Galileo where
time is a twisted Mobius and the silvery
cold of Galileo cuts slivers from our souls
For we have traversed the ages while
stars begin to fade and the dark between
the Galaxies is a soothing subtle call
that you and I must heed, lest we be lost forever.
Come, my brother,
and take my hand….