Reasons not to pack it in

Because these are these words exactly,
and nothing else;
Because each new word is a new flag in a new country,
that we must abandon immediately, or die;
Because my heart mingles with night airs,
and communes in silent joy with the white spray of stars;
Because the way out is truly the way in;
Because the wisdom of a trillion unrecorded lives
is awake inside me, and will speak;
Because the sky has portals enough;
Because the afterlife is loaded with darkness,
but light is only one kind of tangibility;
Because no fact nor whim nor apprehension is
without its own little life, its own holy vector;
Because the mystic accent is what is required here, and
will be required again, and will not be required;
Because songs must end, but a miracle is a timeless commodity;
Because the crows of time have grown fat on our breadcrumbs;
Because we are capable of throwing hoops around “Time” and “Nature,”
and of framing the shifting mists;
Because the workaday world melts into the long night of prayers;
Because we must push and pull at a thing
in order to discover its true shape;
Because prophecy is, happily, inevitable;
Because everything at our feet may be fashioned into a conveyance;
Because those are ropes, hanging from the stars;
Because our sorrows are as seasons in the mountains;
Because reverence is the better part of reverie;
Because my poem wanders to find its theme.