The sky is a cobweb of stars;
frogs hop on the garden
path, their mating calls like sitars
with broken necks. It is ten
o'clock. Indoors, we calculate
his pills in scheduled charts,
the light-years before a prostate
turns supernova, the quarts
of water intake in one day.
Dust coats his telescope;
silence hangs in the Milky Way—
wisps of gas like expired hope:
the Witch's Broom Nebula gleams.
It's easy to forget
his notes on interstellar beams,
the radiance of sunset.
He sleeps, mindless of the rising pitch.
Like distant light, his hands twitch.

Copyright © 2006, Arlene Ang

Image Credit: T. Rector/University of Alaska Anchorage and WIYN/NOAO/AURA/NSF

Arlene Ang lives in Venice where she edits the Italian edition of Niederngasse. Her poetry has been published in Envoi, The Pedestal, Rattle, Smiths Knoll and 2River View. Her first full collection of poetry, The Desecration of Doves, is available through Amazon and Barnes&Noble.