They tell me stargazing
Is romantic. Is the catalyst of
First kisses. Is the split second touch
Of unsure fingers. They tell me that
Staring into the eyes of millions of
Planets will heal old wounds
I beg to differentiate
Between love and light speed diffusion
Stars shrivel and, soon, are
No more than blemishes on the sincere
Face of a blind clock.
Tiny lights. I could look at fireflies or
Pixelated screens or the moth-bitten sandals of
Once-little girls to find
Tiny lights
They flicker, eternally
Perhaps it is just me
But there is nothing romantic
About the temporary or the
Easily emulated
So that cannot be why
Is it the eternity? Of when one stares into forever
From the now on their bed of grass?
Or is it the history, of times when glaze-eyed
Before you lay in this dew and frogs’
Lullabies and stared into the marrow of the sky
Believing in this man-made mystery, traditional capacity
To savour lights in dark, honest eyes
They tell me, stargazing.