Interstell​ar traveler caught in wintry mix

The grey sky
portentious, waiting
a sense of always waiting
not anticipatory
not really
more the flatlined relief
that no more catastrophes
can happen for a moment
let alone miracles
my friend writes to me of magic
and I know it is afoot
everywhere and at all times

Yet I am encumbered
by knowledge and
the distance between
my old lover and me, as he
burrows through his tunnel
of pain and suffering
hopeful that the torches will last
the journey
I call upon my light beings
and ask them
to speed my healing to him
as in days of yore

Yore - a word not
much understood
these days
how I stood on
the small platform
between worlds
and held my hands
down toward the sick and wounded
letting the truth and power
and purity - too many words already
for something that has no translation -
sparkle down like stars
upon them

Perhaps I was a conduit
in those early days
of cooperation in
earth's affairs
And now burdened
by memories
I wonder how complicit
my bloodline is
in the later conquest
as Gaia heaves a sigh
I nestle in her bosom
and wait