Stargazing

The sky is not a glass of anything;

it winks, it’s a parable,

the kind your mother told whenever

you’d been “wicked”—intense

but vague. The night sky swerves

to its seat, the show begins:

The Pleiades:

Daqui

Seven zeros make zero—that’s what

we are. Seven opportunities

to drown in, seven ways out—

don’t look too hard, we’ll blur.

There’s more of us than meets

the eye, a spreading rash

on the shoulder of a stubborn man.

Taken apart, we’re nothing

but fire and air.

Cassiopeia:

Daqui

Take it away! This is somebody else’s

nightmare. Can I be blamed

for wanting more? How else

stay young? My daughter, helpless,

outshines me in her willingness to serve.

Let her embrace her strong young man

and go. I’m chained to my chair.

Andromeda:

Daqui

This crag’s an adamant bed

but I’m grateful, grateful, at least

for my fingers, squirmed free of cuffs,

which heft the smaller stones to smash

the sea. Brave shining face above

your butterfly horse, descend

and fight like a man. Take me

and I’ll be your lover, slave, diviner,

as you wish. This

is what’s known as being

between a rock and a hard place.

Taurus:

Daqui

An itch blooms just

out of reach and I lumber on,

forcing it underground.

Muscled neck and shoulders,

boulderous head: no one opposes me.

Breath of crocus, horn of iron:

lust disposes where it can.

Rita Dove