Astropoetica: Starsick, by Steve Klepetar

I saw a slow, pale, shooting star tonight
describe a faintly silver arc above
the gnarled and ragged oaks.

The sky decided, just this once, to be polite
and hold its peace about desire and love,
topics it had long considered jokes.

The star, suspended almost in its flight,
seemed stuck in ether, needing a good shove
by some strong hand, or at least a poke

to wake it from a dream of boundless height,
a trance to hold a star, like wounded dove
brooding over waters where choke-

cherries bloom, while great heron and lord kite
swoop down among the tender new foxglove
to see the king of frogs and hear him croak.

Steve Klepetar teaches literature and writing at Saint Cloud State University, where he spends as much time as possible talking with astronomers, who are even madder than poets.