Hanging out with Zeus to look
At the stars. Don’t be Amiel.
You don’t own the infinite.
Be small if you want. You are.
Everything’s small next to night,
But seeing that won’t make you
Any bigger than you are.
No one’s one with the night sky,
At least no more than quanta
On the bottom of your shoes
Are equally one with you.
The stars aren’t even themselves.
They just look like that to you.
Astronomers calculate
Madly to adjust their views.
Savor dark skies if you can.
Fine. Sprawl yourself on a hill
And feel philosophical.
Don’t think it makes you special.
Awe is understandable
After pollution and clouds.
A view can heal, a little—
In you, not to do with you.
Being in awe of the stars
Is reflex, not a virtue.
After the tent revival,
Reborn souls still tilt askew.
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