Evening always begins the same way;
the careful folding of the sky on itself,
the unweaving of sound from the air.
Jasmine-sprays of stars hang
against the thin black wall of night.
Tonight I find Orion
aiming his fixed dart
through the red heart of Mars
into the wan face of the moon.
I have moved through vast, dark rooms
that seemed bigger than this sky;
moved with the uneasy steps of a traveller
walking hushed amid
lost without the steadfast arrow
the sailors follow.
I thought you stood there on the other side.
The night is breathless, I stand becalmed.
The stars are falling to the sea.
Give me a wind, even a sigh;
let me hear your voice aross the waves –
or is it only with this violent, celestial navigation
that we cross distances by dark?
(original below, from 1999)