Wander

Planets will shine with a steady light.
Too much in the sun to see anything
any less bright.

Stars will twinkle and wink at us,
because they know the universe 
is not empty. 

As dawn comes on, Venus 
is shorn of all her symbolism,
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 these vast gaps?

In a world made new each
year and night, where the star
you see twinkle so merrily,
easily - may have died
dead ages ago, and you
too will die.

Having hung your most desperate
wish upon it. Too late 

for either of you. 

Just take the light 
you get by eyes. 

Let the mind behind 
tie it bright to bind 
'til you wonder no 
more:

be a wanderer. 

You might as well may, 
as if 
you could see. 
Here's Venus 
again. 

Say hi to her.