You catch a photon of light
In your retina.

A photon that has traveled 
Hundreds, thousands, millions...billions
Of years 
To find rest in the bespeckled mitt
Of a golden-brown iris 
And set fire to the nerve endings
That reach for your attention
And hold you by the ears
And force you to look into yourself 
As you look into the night sky. 

Was that photon destined for you?
Was it fate that you two would meet?
Has it been on its way
Pinballing off silver moons
And glowering meteors?

Programmed into it — you.
No question and no alternative.
You were meant to meet.

I wait for the next time
A wink of starlight
Leaps into me 
And places me both near and far
To it all.