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Desert Sky
by Ed Bennett

This small mesa,
this perfect platform
to scan the night sky

proud of a small ability
to name every constellation
every star, it's magnitude,
but now I lie here,
shoulders and hips on the ground
with a supine stare at wonderment

the black sky unencumbered
by erasure from city lights
the subtle colors of each galaxy

the living thing worshiped
by the first wanderers
who chose this scape,

looked into the moving, rolling night
for the portents of survival,
signals to migrate or plant

to build a life of starlight,
calculus of higher knowledge,
oneness with unreachable borders:

the clockwork of the godhead,
steadily, through each season,
constant regent of all life.

I no longer use optics
to probe this living thing
whirling above, around, beneath.

I walk the shaman's road
with eyes pitched upward
to this sky, this element, this place

where the gods keep council
over the prodigal children
who dare to bless the sacred dark.


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