| Drink deep the wine of this inverted cup, black crystalled night. Mark well the patterns of its lights, the golden dipper in the hulking bear, the hunter, striding high the southern edges of the winter earth, red Mars, ringed Saturn, Cassiopei's shining chair, the countless far-receding Pleiades, and she, bright lover to the Sun now setting, glowing on the western rim. Tonight upon my frozen road this little, snow-encrusted bowl of world waits motionless and still and cold, the frosted breath an incense of the body's sacrifice. Only the dark jeweled cup of heaven turns as held in some yet contemplating hand the sparkling essence of a universe around my small inconsequental star is slowly twirled. Dear walkers of the cupped night sky engrave your star-traced beings on these darkening eyes, that in some coming blackness to the soul, I will have some small light of you, to hold. |