On a clear night,

watching the sky,

naked eye planets,

whole solar systems,

entire galaxies racing

and spinning and tearing

themselves apart, through

the pain of absolute now,

through the tears of the

age of oligarchs,

through the chill of ICE and wind,

the Pleiades whirl and fall.

The prophecy written in the sky.

Sit back, pass the bottle ‘round the fire,

erase the state of passing

from our perpetual memories.

Let the whisky do what

Job and Ezekial and Enoch could not.

Abraham and Issac listened to

the clouds above Mount Moriah,

they watched the winds blow

their bitter music,

but they never heard the attic call

of the night watchman.

They never heard the bells

at midnight chime.

Neither Miriam nor Moses

scaled the walls of isolation

to see the sun in icy January.

But here, tonight, we turn

our ears towards heaven, you and I,

and listen to the song of the stars.