The Sister Stars

How high we are here;

seated somewhere

between the stars

and the sleeping town below.

See: we are so high

that we have but to reach out

to touch the moon’s bright face

as it rises to greet us from the horizon.

See: we are so high

that we need only to listen carefully

to hear the murmured whisperings

of the gods above

as they chart the tide of the affairs of men

asleep and unknowing in the world below.

See: we are so high

that we count ourselves

as sisters to the stars.

Continuing their journeys

our sister stars are unaware

that their wanderings, their very courses,

are traced out by us.

For nothing can happen in the heavens

unless we three decide that it will.

The truth is: the gods are helpless,

unable to act without our instructions

(although they do not know this,

and imagine that their schemes

are all their own).

And so we three sit here quietly

through the blue Arabian night,

making the decisions of gods,

naming new constellations:

here: the leopard,

with glowing twin-sun eyes,

there: the stooping falcon,

wings stretched between galaxies,

and there: the heroine,

riding a winged sphinx

to stars yet more distant than her own:

all creatures of our night-watch fantasy.

But even these things are pastimes,

pleasantries, mere diversions.

For our true purpose

Is to search until we find one star,

and one star only

among our myriad sister stars.

Somewhere, if only we can find it,

shines a star that will save the world.

and that is the star

which we will call down to earth.

Painting: Arabian Nights by Jean-Joseph Benjamin-Constant