The Comet-Watchers

Green-eyed,
aloof,
prowling heaven’s alleyways
with unexpected  grace
you take your ease on Saturn’s stoop
then roam again the darkness,
an elegant, celestial stray hungry for attention.

Prone beneath your pathway,
curbstone-pillowed, concrete bound,
I squint and ponder
remembered charts,
tracing your silent route through time
until I feel a tug
and hear the tiny, worried voice.

An earthbound stray has found her friend,
her source of food
and solace
no longer rising tall against the sky but flattened to the ground,
eyes turned upward,
head bent back as though the victim of a fall.

Green eyes wide,
she nudges hard against my pillowed head,
pushes back dismissive hands.

Importunate,
insistent,
she bites and tugs my hair as though to pull me upright,
rescuing her realm
from a universe gone mad.

I leave the comet to its flight
and offer consolation to this nearer, living world.
“Look up,”  I murmur,
running hands through fur that sparks
and shines like starlight in her eyes.
“A thousand years are passing.
A thousand years have passed.”

This older poem was substantially re-written after I became intrigued by  A Milkweed Comet  on Steve Schwartzman’s “Portraits of Wildflowers” blog.  Comments always are welcome. To leave a comment or respond, please click below.