This is as revision of the poem in Post #86.
Gazing Up
Out of the chain store, beginning his stroll
down the road to his house underneath the sky’s bowl
he looks up and sees points far smaller than peas:
Jupiter rising above the trees;
Venus vanishing into the skyline,
leashed to the sun akin to a canine;
and hovering higher, Cygnus (the swan)
in the Summer Triangle. Others are gone
in the glare engulfing the avenue.
Red, orange, yellow, white, and blue,
the billion bulbs of the Milky Way—
where are they hiding? Not one stray ray
of light from those heavenly bodies will make it
to his eyes. A strange thought floats around. He can’t shake it:
Once awed by a glimpse of the glittering heavens,
we’re now flittering moths drawn to 7-Elevens.
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