The Stars They Move
by Christopher Bradley
September 12 1999 4:53 AM

Above my lawn
Above my big bushes
Above the front face of my blue house
Above my maple
Above the tall buildings in the city to the South
The stars They move.

Little dots that aren't little at all
Monstrous balls of fire
They spin and twist
in seven hundred and twenty degree rotation.

They have slow momentum
while space folds and flows around them
And planets gravitate
They shift and slide through the universe
There are more than a thousand points of light
in the blackness of a cool clear night.

The moon is a chunk of rock
With personality
It has no water
It finds its life from our sun.

Stars die phasically
losing their flare
They are born in a quick burst
And pulsate radio blasts of energy
The spectrum is their art form
All color falls from their skies.

Actors move
like Mel Gibson on a motorcycle
or Tom Cruise launching in an F14
from the surface of a Naval Carrier.

But they do not burn
or smolder with passion
in Red White and Blue.
Above us all.
Above us all.
Above us all.

The stars They move.