Sky at Night above Graycliff

walk through the stars, pass through them,
among them, for certain they’d stick
to my pants legs, to my shirt sleeves

like prickles do in abundance
when I pass among weeds in my yard,
growing high, growing wild

stars like these prickles
would stick to whatever I was wearing
were I to pass among them

these lights with prickle-like protrusions
to pick off, to stick me
when I touched them

I’d have to handle them with careful hands


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:13 p.m. 08.10.09