Something About the Stars

They are blind,
but you knew that.
All those years,
there,
not seeing,
but listening
to voices,
the way a satellite
overhears a conversation
in a car
miles below.
Do you remember saying . . . ?
But it's not like that,
what you said,
but how
it lives out there,
where heat and cold
are interchangeable
with light and dark,
where metallic hisses
and whistles die
in the dark
like numbers
divided by zero,
and we become
what we are
without the skin,
without the weight
of words to hold down
what we mean,
and something in us weeps,
and something in us sings.

Keith Althaus
Ladder of Hours:
Poems 1969-2005
Ausable Press

Copyright © 2005 by Keith Althaus
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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