Our Moon circles around the Earth which circles about our Sun along with seven other planets and a million million other rocks creating the Solar System which rides the Milky Way with a million billion other suns spiraling about its glowing heart creating the disk of our galaxy which is itself only part of a bigger cluster of galaxies dancing and spinning about in clusters of clusters then clusters of clusters of clusters until you get our universe like the ever-branching web of a silk-spinning arachnid with those clusters upon clusters reaching tip to tip like the neurons of a living brain carrying the electric pulse of the infinite in vibrating singing strings threading back and forth with infinite other macrocosms into leptons and quarks then electrons, protons, neutrons forming nuclei and circling clouds of the billion billion atoms which composes each of us
Kids can finally leave their homes to play in the last piece of dying light while dogs lope on the cooling cement and glowing-eyed cats begin the night life. A shimmer in the western sky, sometimes mistaken for a spacecraft, likely Mercury or Venus distorted by the atmosphere rippling in the dying orange light as the last bright glimpse of sun disappears. Fading from pink to purple to a deep ultramarine blue as pinpricks of starlight shyly dot the sky forming hidden pictures bestowed with ancient names.
Sad dogs bawl at the waxing moon and brave dogs bay at each small sound while wise dogs watch the night sky turn until the outline of their great ancestor Canis Major, the bright-eyed hunter, rises in the East before the dawn. Cats sit and ponder the world’s path from Egypt to Rome to its current state as they nightly watch the planets’ wanderings recalling each of their names: Jove the mighty, Mars blood red, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune yet not a sky cat to be found except for Bastet’s moon.
Fractals Epigraph Children sprawling in the grass who’ve given up on clouds for stars point out the Big Dipper and follow up the ladle’s side to the Northern star, Polaris, the ancient mariners’ guide.
Why is it we watch the sky a trifle we can see any night? Wolf howls, cat yowls, nightbirds, crickets, and children laughing in the dark all marvel as the heavens move and strive to join their silent singing,
maybe wondering if we came from there and looking for a way back.
Nipping nights walking in the park in a wool coat poking me through my sleeves with hands shoved into warm pockets while my sister and I talk and our dog trots with white tail waving victorious like a flag in the cold or after snow walking with friends back to their apartments while kicking powder and fallen leaves on darkened streets where skeleton trees divide the stars like cracks in space,
SIRIUS I
I stop to look South and see it rising.
One star in the winter calls me to the street glimmering like a heartthrob pulsing like a gem, flashing red and blue as the air warps its light traveled millions of years the eye of Canis Major, Orion’s hunting dog.
My friends laugh when I raise my arms high lean my head back and close my eyes to bask in his song.
II III
Sirius, bright eye, what do you see from that high place? Earth spinning endlessly through space? This tiny planet caught in its own concerns forgetting how small its worries are in the midst of the Universe? If only I were as wise and beautiful as you...
They say I am Endymion in love with Cynthia or a firefly smitten by the evening star.
NIGHT
Dry dry days after the end of school when everyone is keeping cool under tents made out of popsicle sticks and colored construction paper bits while birds strike up a raucous chorus echoing noisily throughout the forest like halls of lockers not seen since June underneath a werewolf moon as lost boys run around wild and scream joyfully in a Neverland dream where growing old is not required growing up is not admired telling fireside stories and counting stars making cardboard rockets to go to Mars skipping rocks and climbing trees jumping creeks and scraping knees slick mud oozing between bare toes wrestling with a writhing garden hose no need for sleep no need for bed until lost boys and girls nod their heads and drift off on the dewey lawn filled with soothing cricket song and firefly nightlights floating into the sky reflecting stars in half-closed eyes.
GAMES
After late nights when I cannot sleep, my eyes unable to stay shut my body refusing to lie still, I stand outside under the lightening sky, the cool dewey grass beneath my toes, and breathe the liquid air not yet dissipated by the sun’s harsh flames. I sometimes dance or leap across the yard damp grass blades cutting into my feet as I glide across the mist beneath that blue grey sky as it turns to yellow, then orange before the first bright glimpse of ruby eye shines above the mountains and begins its climb.
Poem 6 I
The sun is whitest overhead when the sky is noontime blue and the clouds like fluffy lambskins to leap into. In a valley, you can see the clouds for miles rolling like cotton steamrollers or above in an airplane where the world is upside-down and you see them miles beneath you drawing shadows across the earth even farther below. The sun is brightest overhead making the earth so clear, making the light jump through your window to wake you when you’ve forgotten to.
Afternoons are yellow, the sunlight bending diagonal-wise through dust and desert air like grime from sleepy eyes rubbed by napping children. My brain goes away this time of day opting instead for mindless tidying, dusting new-cleared shelves now visible without their many burdens. My Nana just finished lunch and it’s time for daily Soaps while playing computer solitaire as I load boxes and ask which ones can go.
II III
The Strip lights up the sky with it’s own earthbound stars and blots the darkness like a sponge absorbing ink. Neighborhood street lights and freeway headlights and superstore spotlights all add to the fuzzy neon glow settled in the valley like a night fog. I miss the darkness, its deepness, its silence, I miss the rarity of light from true stars high above like pinpricks in velvet. Too much light washes out the image like an overexposed photograph.
IV V
The sky turns pale indigo on twilit walks spotted by orange fireflies of street lamps buzzing electrically overhead as the sun’s heat dissipates replaced by refreshing moisture as evening sprinklers kick on around the block. Kids can finally leave their homes to play in the last piece of dying light while dogs lope on the cooling cement and glowing-eyed cats begin the night life.