What you see here, now,
happened long ago — long
as the light of Aldebaran.
Perhaps, while green you once
beseeched the moon to ferry
the sun to your eyes only
To find it new and abandoned,
as once you gazed upon a fabled sea
and found it clenched, unyielding.
Or you turned and walked inland,
minute as a blade of straw in a fresh
stubbled field, the harvest sold, and
Maybe, once you were taken
into the beak of a small bird
and woven into all you’ve lost,
Catching rain and the orphan
light of a few old stars.