Star Glances

Unnatural, this clearing;

Grass folded over the mountain

Like a green tablecloth over an

Engraved wooden table.

Unnatural, the ring of pine trees

Surrounding this clearing like

Guards. Only I can't tell

If we are being sheltered or trapped.

Unnatural, the perfect cylinder

That absorbs the eyes when we lay

On our backs in the dirt,

As if God cut out a perfect circle in

The sky; a telescope for the naked eye.

Unnatural, we hold hands

Like we are in church on Sunday

Praying, hoping, believing.

Unnatural, I imagine

That all the constellations

Are us; Children

Holding hands and looking down

A cylinder into the universe.