augury doggerel

Saturday, February 15, 2003

Galax�as Kyklos, Via Lactea

At night I lie back on the snow and listen to the coins falling out of my pocket. And look up.

There�s Orion, hunter, my clutch of nameable winter stars, starting with glowing red Betelgeuse. The Pleiades, seven daughters of Atlas pursued by Orion. I see them by looking away. Cassiopeia, where Tycho�s Nova burst open back when Shakespeare was eight. Ursa Major, bear, dipper, wagon, pointer to Polaris, the North Star, in Ursa Minor. And only out here, away from the city, the mist of stars.

The kid comes out and lies on me, her grumbly but warmish couch in the snow. I show her the cloud that is no cloud and explain the Droga Mleczna, the Milky Way, billions of stars far, far away. She finds a fish and a little man, but no Pikachu.

Pushing her luck with the gods, she sees a falling star and makes a wish that has to be secret or it won�t come true. I discover the secret later, a drawing of a falling star and a written plea for a kitten that will love her and like to be picked up and petted. Bloody hell.

The next morning, the kid goes out and finds the change in my splodged angel.


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