Another dizain with more swallows, for dverse
When I reach up my hand I touch the sky,
Catch sparks of fire in the dark of night,
As sharp as when the fork-tailed swallows cry
In sleekly feathered meteoric flight,
And gather in my hand the stars’ brief light.
I raise my eyes, watch constellations turn,
And all the lights of heaven slowly burn,
While fox pads silently beneath the trees.
I wonder if he ever feels the stern
Gaze of the night or hears stars in the breeze?