Counting the stars from my Los Angeles balcony—
Nine, I think, tonight;
Just enough for one constellation or
Two, if you're creative.
There are one or two stars
Only seen if you
Remember where they might be.
There is the off-chance you're hallucinating.
Tonight's constellation is Poodle,
After the canine god of Beverly Hills—
Remember planets shouldn't twinkle.
Horizon is misleading—
There are towers upon the unseen mountains.
A tribe in Costa Rica saw a postcard from New York and said
They lined up all the stars in
Neat little rows:
Their understanding of cities.
Remember the moving lights are airplanes.
From where I am those stars of Poodle
Point south toward those hollow hills
Where fame and fortune fashion
The poodle without fur is just another dog.
Remember stargazing as a youngster—
Backs upon the dewy lawn;
Cool summer nights,
Carefree and wistful,
In the woods away from cities,
Far from pollution—a purer place;
Imagining why ancients thought that
Dippers looked like bears;
Hoping that the bears would know to stay away,
Excited that they might not;
Hoping that a girl you liked would
Like to stargaze too.
Remember that you're hoping still.
An empty person is just waiting to be filled.
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