Planets will shine with a steady light, too much in the sun
to see anything any less bright. Stars
Twinkle and wink at us, because they know the universe
is not empty.
As dawn comes on, Venus
is shorn of all her symbolism, as sure as this
Is Christmas morn. And it is cold. But I at least am warm
for this time of year, and dressed to be born. Is there anything left
to cross such vast gaps?
In a world made new each year, where
that star you see twinkle so merrily, so easily
May have died, ages ago and you too
will die, having hung your most desperate wish upon it.