Nov 132013
 
1.  Looking Up
He looked up at constellations constantly,
Seeking in heightened happenings above
The redolent love of family: faces squarely there,
Somehow related, frank with curiosity.

Not burning metal raining out of solar air,
Hulking harried fates at his scarred carcass--
But love, as in the dawning sorrow of a mate
Spooning her sugars across the breakfast plate
While our local sun above the blazing table
Plays theater-manager for their private fable.

And also acts, more minorly, as one of the suns 
In some far-off creature's caging constellation,
Telling alien tales sagely in strange tongues
For other lovers revolving around other suns.

2.  The Constellations
They were the silver-wire basket in which
His whole fruited world had fit and rattled,
Orbiting one sun augustly, feeling less enclosed 
Than cared for by star-scriven stories there,
Etched in old-timey deeps of time and space,
Trouping spacetime's operatic litterings--
A child's good-night tale densely stenciled
With Italianate-intaglioed colored lettering.

3.  Himself
When, looking down, stars saw him as he was
What did they see?  A bunny in his hole
Squinting at yellow-white pebbles in the sky?
Or, as he was, magic rabbit popped from an old tophat, 
Did they see, with wan eyes, only those things 
He himself had imagined for them to see:
A blue world;  himself;  himself as marble-master,
With so many mortal mootings left unsaid,
So many starry yarns left unwoven,
A man of gasping laughter, his bare belly furred,
Licking wisps of frosting from a bowl
Tickled constellations rolled around in merrily.

4.  What Crows, What Specters
What heavenly crows, what peering specters 
Poked and ogled the oblivious baby? 
A giant in his cradle rocking rapidly, happily
Himself, watching what ribald repetitions chanced--
Noting slyly, as stars' spidery mobile spun above,
How tapping "time" and tripping "rhyme" dance 
Round earth's blue ballroom constantly, the way
Paired mirrors emulate infinity on facing walls....

5.  Tinily Enough
At tin summer's midnight edge
Of his small wood's blue empire, man stood:
A minx of meaning in a world awry.

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.