Ten At Night In The Mountains Of New Hampshire
Who’d have thought the only bear we’d see
is in the heavens, not rampaging through the brush.
And no cougar, not even scat along the trail,
but a brilliantly-maned lion stalking the sky,
between the virgin and lynx.
Expecting new life, we’re invigorated by the old,
as we lie in perfect stillness, hands for pillow,
meadow grass for mattress, surrounded by woods
too wary for intruders, while the heavens show
no such fear, every creature in their jeweled domain
more than willing to reveal itself to any eye turned upward.
Look, the bull, with Pleiades on his shoulder.
And there, Perseus gripping Medusa’s head.
We fall asleep, under cover of ancient light,
a sky continuously remembering itself,
a night we won’t forget.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest books, “Leaves On Pages” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon.
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