Through owl-oval window
under the old eaves
I watch the star-studded
purple of the midnight sky
Cloud-clear and inky,
the sky is a dark satin
on which mille-fleurs stars
are set in dazzling patterns
challenging my memory
of mythology and testing
my fix on compass points
Who knows precisely
what they are, those stars?
For me they are stories in
multiples of millions
which I shall re-invent
to tell my grandson
when we look at the
midnight sky, together.