Splendid Isolation

The galaxy is virtually empty,
The camping of stellar dust doesn’t amount
Even if it is the basis of existence.
That lengthening of time and space
Far beyond the constraints of the mind
Is not the place of corporal beings;
It’s cosier here in splendid isolation
With an assembly of determined habits,
Misgivings largely manufactured,
And the dread of love and being loved
Still coldly guarding the doors of the self.
It’s quite an individual matter
What with death and birth and marriage,
No unspeakable brush with the divine
Except in the manner of splendid isolation.