1. 

The night from my window has blossomed with stars;

my arms go to reach them - forgetting how far.

Is all of this mine, or am I here to fit

as part of some permanent pattern from bits?

2. 

Yet here in this nonsense, there's good and there's bad.

(The face of the night is both lovely, and sad.)

I treat it as holy, but this is applied

to God who's all good, with all evil besides.

3. 

We talk as if morals were matters of fact.

As cooks we concoct them - a diet of tact.

And when we are squabbling in ethical terms,

we're really rejecting the other bird's worms.

4.

 I see from my window just part of the whole;

the Total engulfs me, and with it I roll

through circuits unthinkable, roundabout race,

with time as the missing dimension of space.

5.

 I die with the living, and live with the dead;

I am with this mystical permanence wed.

I look through the nebulous clusters above,

and out of it comes to me unity's love.