A-rings and strings

zero-dimensional point particles
have done my brane in
an implosion on a pinprick

Cassini has found moonlets
in the rings of Saturn
footballs orbiting end over end

yet the size of entire fields,
and two thousand miles across
but an eightieth of the system

rings, propellor-shaped wakes
perturbed by gravity
the weight of discovery

that shatters history
like a prehistoric moon
Pan's nemesis the nymphs

which dance through the rings
undisturbed by the vacuous
meaning of celestial things.

vap poya

this evening's hunter's moon
looms low on the horizon,
rising softly at sunset

we point the body out to each other

helping hunters track
their prey, farmers work
the fields into the night.

we dance among the stars

the moon punctuates the sky,
there is no long period of darkness
between sunset and moonrise.

we make our own constellations

the ecliptic plane
of Earth's orbit around the sun
makes a narrow angle

our arms entranced and entangled

with respect to the horizon
in the evening in autumn,
acute gesture from the heavens.

we laugh at the world's pace

in the northern hemisphere,
the Hunter's Moon appears
late in the year, usually October.

a beacon of hope, stepping stone

This day is a feast day in parts
of western Europe and among some
Native American tribes,

means to the path's dusty end

the Feast of the Hunter's Moon,
though the celebration had largely died
out by the eighteenth century.

which we walk from star to finish.

Piedmont

Among northwest peaks, where water
Is bottled, in a domain of Occitan,
Turin sets eyes on foreign favor,
Brings together regional fare,
Hosts games, conferences, events,
In alpine serenity, mottled air.

Rivers have carved up these valleys –
The Po rising out of the Monviso,
Between Monte Rosa, a Grand Paradis.
This terrain was once Savoy and Alba
Then Genoa reclaimed the mountains
To ward off Napoleon.

Today as if with frayed rope,
Vineyards grip the dry clay soil,
Grow Barolo, Barbaresco, Moscato,
The lesser known Barbera, Dolcetto,
Nebbiolo, Grignolino, Brachetto,
Freisa skins distilled into grappa.

Fiats come down from industrial works,
Turned out by workers in Turin,
Railways bead the hills with prayer.
Tissues and silks, finer wares of Biella,
Famed factories of chocolate Ferrero
Bonded with banking and insurance –

Berlusconi is not alone in the afternoon
Shadows of these winding, sinister valleys
Under a left-center local minister.
Miracles moved by these mountains
Maintain the pinnacle in massif
Movements teetering on an avalanche.

Stellaphane

Imagine dim and distant objects
Flickering in the sky, uncountable miles
Billion and billions of light years old

Globular star clusters,
Flickering chandeliers
So close in the eyepiece

Yet stars remain beyond reach,
Beyond the limits of the atmosphere,
Firmament immemorial.

Charged particles in Saturn’s rings,
Leaping off the surface like scraps
of tissue paper levitating to a comb.

Stars linked with exoplanets,
Companions in the night sky,
Networks of constellations

Virgo rising from under the world’s horizon,
Cygnus, sailing swan of the night sky,
Draco of such celestial scale,

These conscripts to human invention
Will appear different to beings
From any planet orbiting any star.

In all of these constellations,
Any meaning is bound to Earth,
The significance perspective from a window.

Moments and clusters back in time.
What Draper must’ve seen as he photographed
The first human face and the moon.

Andromeda’s tilt offers an angle on the birth
Of humans as light from the back predates us,
From the front follows us into the night.

Kepler called the sun the fireplace of he world,
Yet averted vision reveals spokes of galaxies
Passing back and forth into eternities.

Would you care to

Dance we now a break from ennui,
For what could be more dismal

Than to sit idle on a Sunday
As the clock counts its ticks,

Those seconds down to the six,
And, Hell, lost to the nine.