Stars, all of them it seems,
laid out in a perfect grid
across the night sky. It’s not
supposed to be thus. Supposed instead
to fling itself in a chaos of disorderly
mythological meaning, the stories
not resolving, just — there. Instead
it seems that a mechanic has organized it
with pre-greasy hands, the way he preferred
it to be– easy to apprehend, to comprehend.
I know they are just beyond my memory
and I strain and rub hard at my failing eyes
to try and see. Just now, one flickered.
I almost cried for the flaw.
I do not care if it was real. I care
for the mistake, imaginary though it may be.
We learn from our mistakes, or so I’ve been told.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T