by G.O. Clark
Sometimes when you
stop to gaze up at the night sky,
another pauses with you,
the stars a common focal point.
The memory of an old
friend points to the Dippers,
a piece of the puzzle he once learned
on a Scout camping trip.
A ghost arm hugs you tight
around your waste, cold stars above
needle sharp, your last night together
once again nearing its end.
You contemplate what some
writer might have seen, eyes upturned,
all those doorways to other worlds
begging the imagination.
Future astronauts will draw
closer to the stars. Does proximity
breed too much familiarity? Do dreams
become lost in a vacuum?
The night is crowded.
So many ghostly stargazers huddling
together with the living,
the night sky a true continuum.
Copyright © 2019 by G.O. Clark