Dance, Pleiades, Only Dance
When some angel hammered on my door, calling,
Come outside and look up! I didn’t know what to expect,
certainly not a giant tear in black velvet, but here they come
tumbling out of inky sky
a salt shaker pouring constellations
and if that isn’t a group of seven
cavorting in blue.
They don’t want to disappear
in morning. They don’t want to be
only a dream. Then don’t. Stay, sisters,
for hours longer, the moon
so close you could
throw a shoe and hit it.
No comments:
Post a Comment