Monday, August 27, 2007

POEM - Satellite Spotting

Gaze up at pinpricks of squinting light,
Night emerges, padded as fog.
"North-South is ours, East-West is theirs”,
I recount from my cold war days.
But now there is no "we" or "they" -
So how can I tell if light that cuts
through constellations is friend or foe?
It is the stars that are God's eyes,
Ones that giggle at the languor
Of satellites adrift like the
Lazy cricket notes in summer skies,
Amused by such folly, looking down,
Offering up their own prayers:
"North-South is ours, East-West is theirs.


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