Stars appear not to move at all,
Holding configuration through the years,
The constellations like tattoos of light
Upon the night, imperfect patterns
Burned onto a blind universe far, far
Beyond the edge, descending,
Bending through the distant years.
I shimmer at the thought of where
Such wonders go, finally reaching Earth,
Inscribed on back of eye, the retina
Observes the piercing, sends the
Message to the mind: sees bulls,
Horses, wings of heaven flying—
Reminds that gods speak as lovers do,
Whispering in the dark.