Last night I made a wish
a deep wish, with a roaring heart
and a face pressed against the night sky.
The stars were moving.
They fluttered and flashed shooting sharp red sparks
saudering the sky from point to point.
Planes connected the dots and
satellites held up giant webs to catch the constellations.
We, prisoners of a dark orb, count up the points.
Who is winning? Who is reveling in the bigger picture?
Who can draw an exact portrait of the vast night face from memory?
fugitive moments of oneness
The step from you to a star is simply a question of fusion.
Fuse-one, refuse none, all alone
As the giants dip out of sight and north becomes relative,
new stars rise over the horizon, riding red carpets,
lining our wishes with smoke-screened promises.
We are closer than ever to the stars and yet
they remain just as distant.
When we wake in the middle of the night,
what twinkles back our eyes, what hums the dozing song?
Images glimmer, smiles making money.
Windows reflect, transparency for our humility.
The doorway lets in love, random and true.
The roof remembers Pandora and sits tight.
Last night, I went out and watched the sky dance
as the dogs wailed an ode of yearning to the bony moon
and I hummed along to the crickets rubbing out a drone
to rub into our dreams.
Last night, I wished upon a plane.
And my heart and face and stars and gods
laughed and wept
until finally I slept.