In Memoriam Mae Noblitt

This is just a place:
we go around, distanced,
yearly in a star's
  
atmosphere, turning
daily into and out of
direct light and
  
slanting through the
quadrant seasons: deep
space begins at our
  
heels, nearly rousing
us loose: we look up
or out so high, sight's
  
silk almost draws us away:
this is just a place:
currents worry themselves
  
coiled and free in airs
and oceans: water picks
up mineral shadow and
  
plasm into billions of
designs, frames: trees,
grains, bacteria: but
  
is love a reality we
made here ourselves,
and grief, did we design
  
that, or do these,
like currents, whine
in and out among us merely
  
as we arrive and go:
this is just a place:
the reality we agree with,
  
that agrees with us,
outbounding this, arrives
to touch, joining with
  
us from far away:
our home which defines
us is elsewhere but not
  
so far away we have
forgotten it:
this is just a place.