Photo ©joiseyshowaa

I look from the window at the afternoon sky, clear blue brushed with gold in the west, drawn by a flock of red kites, sailing past on their sinister business, and when I turn back to the penumbra of this interior, blink, the seven stars of the Plough shine back at me, punched, glittering points, on my retinas, a gift of this bright sky that conceals the night.

Always

though the day weaves a blue blanket

to hood the earth

stars cluster

stretch from rim to dusky rim.