The Stars and the Moon

T

In Legends of the Jews, Lewis Ginzberg writes that an Egyptian princess hung a tapestry woven with diamonds and pearls above King Solomon’s bed. When the king wanted to rise, he thought he saw stars and, believing it was night, slept on.

Scaling ladders with buckets of white enamel,
I painted the stars and the moon on my windowpanes
to hold back days and nights. I yanked the telephone
and stopped the wooden clock. The weeks a lightning stroke,
desire turned to love. With my blue diamond,
I sliced minutes in half and made days vanish,
fooling the hours.

I became so skillful
at firmaments that miracles occurred:
a bearded comet moved across the room
breeding no omens, tearing no major kingdoms
into small provinces, but there it was,
reminding us that rock may spin and flare,
lifting the senses, burning into sight.

You eased pale hands away; I saw your shoulders
recede through doorways, watched your image fail
with your famished smile. I left our room
with dream-filled eyes, and standing in the sun,
I gazed at bricks and glass and saw, suddenly,
flashing in stony light, the stars and the moon.
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