"...for the path of comets is the path of poets:
they burn without warning..."
Marina Tsvetaeva
Towards the west a small celestial trail
spirals the sky and nets me, Jubilant
stars in its wake so pinprick bright
I could trace them with my fingertips,
their old, cold light clusters like a chorus
chanting for the dead, all my kith and kin,
known and unknown tailing their light for me
to read in the night sky.
My head heavy like a newborn
as I stargaze. I see venus, earth’s sister
and I see the lemon moon’s
pale slice. Then I feel earth’s grip
slip from me, I am unhitched, no longer bound,
I lose my bearing in a sea of fiery stars.
Floating in the firmament I have become
an adumbrated body of falling light.
Copyright © Jean O'Brien 2012
