The rooftops, all jumbled ridges and shuffled ranks,
their chimneys stacked, extinct and still;
on edge, they stand out like blackened, broken teeth
against a sky of melting burnished brass,
where charcoal stains streak and smudge the chasing night.
While far above, suspended in her own indigo
see the evening star, a distant garret light,
so bright, so small, so constant.
Then her twin, I might suppose,
tracing a slow and steady arc,
man’s hopeful step to catch the stars.
A spacecraft chasing Orion;
so small, so bright, so transient;
a ship set in space, and a crew who sails her,
navigating their solitary path
across heaven’s oceans, almost every hour.