Sky

Heaven above stretches forward, above,
further out and further in, further up,
to the dark brow of Ishtar, wrapt around
with her bright diamond star-studded girdle.
One day I shall kiss her face, lips and eyes,
I will reach up into the sky and grab
for my piece of paradise up above,
I will go with my people to the stars.
Until then I must take great care down here
of the broad bosom of the earth who now,
even now, presses me forward, up, out,
to seek my fortune among gods and men.
Though each morning the sun rises, blots out
the stars and heavens, the map to heaven,
each night they all emerge shining once more
to point out the way to our bright future.
Let us not scorn her blessings, let us praise
all that she offers to humanity:
a way off of this lonely piece of rock,
the quiet boondocks of our galaxy,
the womb of our kind, interstellar rubes;
many paths towards the center of all,
many ways to achieve union with all,
trails of breadcrumbs made of stars and planets;
all that we have lost and all we have now,
all that came before, comes now, and will come,
and everything of which we can dream,
all these are her gifts to us, her peoples.
It would be blasphemy to not attempt
to make the most of her blessings, or yet
to keep them all to ourselves: we must share,
we must fly, we must love, we must be hers.