(Polaris)
~
a dark night sky,
horizon to horizon,
see countless stars,
some call it billions,
i count by myriads...
cast an upward gaze,
in any direction,
so stunningly beautiful;
and though so many nameless,
and so many faceless,
are they not noteworthy all,
still each and every one?
yet, but a few,
like Sirius, like Schedar,
like Regulus and Rigel,
in number a few dozen more;
in all are counted fifty-seven,
star sisters, sun brothers
thought bright enough,
placed precisely, just,
to be among those sought
between clouds by ocean sailors;
with squinted gaze perused
by desert navigators;
in constellations scanned,
relentlessly pursued,
by travelers the globe across.
you, my love are such a star
your rising luminescence
far too brilliant to ignore;
in present station,
your presenting position,
not merely making bright;
for tis you, my love,
who makes the night
alive, arise with life;
for without your zenith,
my bearing is lost...
take away my north,
no others align!
in this darkening sky.
i could n’er visualize
your brilliance gone dim,
nor being without
your guiding light,
beckoning my hand;
for it is by you
that i set my compass,
and in you that
i lay my course.
Polaris...
high and afar,
my true north;
and for’er you are,
my sight-guiding,
night-lighting,
heart-binding,
northern star!
~
post script.
terrestrially speaking... yes, i do know that those beneath the equatorial center will use a navigational star guide list different entire, but they and theirs are not within sight of these eyes. no offense intended; i can but write of mine.
celestially speaking... navigators of old knew the fifty-seven stars, plus one (Polaris) by which to plot their course. one wonders if the art has been entirely lost with today’s extensive dependence on satellite navigation and global positioning systems. the time may come when we will wish for a return to the sky for direction.
ethereally speaking... tis but a metaphor to paint a horizon-stretching tapestry of the binding and guiding power of one light to another, one heart to another’s. yet the truth is, no metaphor will suffice, and no language has words enough to describe the mysteries, the intricacies, and the ecstasies of true love!
maritally speaking... it is thirty-seven years ago this week that we made vows; swore our faithfulness one to another. she has been the core that held me, even when for a season our gravitational pull grew weak, yet she held firm. neither has ever betrayed the other, yet i owe her my life, because i am the impetuous and she the more gracious.