the five wink brights of the Southern Cross

bestride the sky with staunch eyes upon me

I watch them back for reassurance 

people cross wooden beams for strength, after all

people put them atop graves to hold death until death’s dawn

people join brow, breast and shoulders with a shaking finger

people lean their doubt upon The Cross and pray that it will bear the weight

 

this cross is not that great cross

I wonder what it thinks of me likening its blaze

to a cross and man whose light has faded by fault of many copies

this cosmic cross seems now greater to me

greater than the earthly cross I have tried to love and failed

greater because in mere visibility it assures a simple wonder 

while the other demands more faith than I can muster

 

this Southern Cross has glistened countless nights with bright blessings

it has seeped into the dark of lush forests

where trees as round as an emu is long

have ached up to the stars for aeons

it has guided the pointing arms of many nations

who have ached for a way to bridge the gap

to converse with whatever wisdom the stars secrete away

 

 as I gaze upon those glowing guides

unchanging and inerrant

the lowermost star begins to shake

and slides slowly down the deep, deep sky

 

the other stars begin to shake

and so do I

 

–

'21-22

© Nichola Tatyana