House Of Stars (Poetry)

Whole constellations glimmer in the attic
clustered in far corners webbed with light
space a wood-ribbed cage — a shadow-lattice
the slanting dust a highway spangled white.

Slow planets drag their satellites like offspring
trailing round in circled discipline
comets streak and meteors mime whistling
while silence clamps its rule on everything.

The moon in all her shapes and incarnations
climbs the stair and glows between the rails
her face is every ghost in strict rotation
she muses as her power dims and fails.

The house is cold — its walls are insubstantial
the atoms of the universe in flux
all clocks are stopped for time’s inconsequential
the moment is pre-set to self-destruct.

For now the house is floating — incandescent
soaking in the glamour lent by stars
their substance gone but lingering in the present
and casting spells like ancient avatars.