Heavens
The artist's eyes danced beneath his cacophonous curls
as he clutched himself with joy
in the sunlit red doorframe of his Mass Ave gallery
A winner, he was
one of a handful commissioned to interpret
the upcoming space flight
in which a great telescope would be raised
far beyond the atmosphere and its distortions
to bring in 10 times more universe than before
to take us back in time, in fact, light having
only finite speed
With rapt undoubting wife in his orbit
he exulted, almost sheepish
as if leaving me behind on a spent planet
I returned to my rat's nest desk
read of Wes Jackson and Wendell Berry
-- likewise backward time travelers, and guides
back to the youth of this rock or at least
the pre-dawn of night-knowing machines --
I read again of Amishmen who name all their cows
When I left for home, a full moon in pearl sky brooded
over the proud minaret of the Murat Temple
more than I could see
without a telescope
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.