SHOOTING THE STARS

SHOOTING THE STARS

Last night was small islands of sky in a sea of fog,

like random pieces of an indigo jigsaw puzzle

floating in a moonlit mist of gossamer raiments.

Not a shooting star traversed the sky

& I was too tired to move to a better view. 

I listened to the Ethiopians on the balcony. 

A whiff of clove & the small red eyes of Gauloises.

It's 2 AM. Do they never sleep? 

An oasis of clarity in a diatribe of foreign syllables, 

as they said "yeah, sure" in perfect American, 

but "OK" with an accent: Ok. So, Ciao. yeah.

Then I imagined I heard the Arabic for stars.

I was listening to the language of the Bible,

learning a Babylon of Amharic by osmosis.

The Ethiopian god who lives in the clouds

Waqa, leaned over the balcony of the sky

and the laden fog spit its secrets on the trees

into a testament of dew and fiery dawn.

8/12/09