Blue Eyelid Lifting

The stars have come onto
my pillow as they are want
to, these frigid nights
below Orion’s star-slash
of welcome. I get up and
marvel with all my being.

Suddenly you are standing
behind me looking out
over my shoulder
from our back-door window
at the high display. I say aloud
the names of the few constellations

I know, told to me by my first
love. Who would have guessed
he would become our
star-bridge, he whose future
fell away from mine

in fitful times of war?
In the morning I’ll unlock
the double gates to let
the workmen in, trying not to
dislodge those moments
when the blue eyelid

of unexpected closeness
pulled us in by the empty sleeve
of its far away.