A forefinger clipping of moon
swags above the tree line. Venus
avoids that astringent yellow
and cloaks itself in glitter
like a half-naked performer
wowing a stadium crowd.
I can’t embrace the night sky
the way I did when I lectured
in the Springfield Planetarium
for weekend pocket money.
That was my high school job,
memorizing some constellations
and faking most of the others.
Now the moon looks suspicious
and Venus looks haughty as ever.
A few miscellaneous stars
burn in their distant history.
Their secrets remain secreted
despite the deep space telescopes
probing the dark I kept to myself
until it no longer fit me
and fell to the ground in folds.
Photograph by Steve Arcone
Smoky Quartz 