From my unforthcoming imaginary book of poems called *In Dubious Vatic*
Are the vast (and rather strange) intellects that populate the dark nebulae, well, in their own way, cuddly somehow?
Do the delight-driven spirits of the innumerable whirling galaxies have a song of their own? (They do, in fact--the notes are ultra-subsonic)
And what is the language of the souls of neutron stars? The crypto-gossip tongues of the Main Sequence?
To say nothing of the tectonic gripes of the rocky worlds, the convective joys and sorrows of all the gaseious ones?
And is there an In-dwelling in the Angst of Uncertainty that clouds the sundry hearts of molecules, ionic hydrogen, common electrons and protons, the solitary neutrons, shy neutrinos, elusive quarks and maybe even lesser fry? Who only speak to us via colliders and cyclotrons?
And what of our own world where billions upon billions of tiny and not-tiny souls scrabble, run, amble, glide, fly, swim, float, whether in sand, sod, rock, magma, air or the salience of H2O?
I don't know.
But I bet they have thoughts and moods beaming, calling, clicking, flashing, yelling, flicking at as all the darn time.
The God-person(s) have a great deal to keep up with.
Maybe that's why we don't hear much from that Quarter.
Or maybe we do.
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