“
The Lonely Astronomer
I have slain the stars
and hung them like heads of game
on heaven's ceiling.
The night has become my trophy room,
slung with big cats and hippos,
rhinos and buffalos and an exotic
barasingha, a swampy cabaret star
among the celestial jazz singers who,
she claims, take liberties with the sacred lyrics
and melodies of the spheres.
Their eyes twinkle at me,
their light ancient,
folded in wrinkles of time
like a black velvet purse.
I wink back
and smile.
There is an intimate relationship
between the suns and the rain,
between the slayers and the slain.
I run my fingers through their celestial skins,
tracing their ley lines,
and for a brief moment,
linger in the tactile pleasures within.
”
”