The stars were out
shockingly clear and bright.
I couldn’t sleep, again, and
(as a bed is best for only two things (not counting dying),
I slipped into clothes and went outside,
my dog curled up beside her, protecting.
It was an hour or two before first light,
a rare time here without clouds,
Venus rising in the East
like the Star of Africa on the paw of Leo.
To the south,
Orion’s three gems shine on his belt,
Betelgeuse on his upraised club arm,
Rigel in the buckle of
his raised left foot as he leaps into battle.
There is a universal beauty,
a unity of all creation,
a clear, subtle illumination
of the magnificence of life, and death
always there, like the stars,
beacons of creation,
in that last hour of darkness, when
the clouds slide away toward
Idaho, and dawn approaches,
a rare time without hidden things,
here in the kingdom of water.
Poet's Corner 