Ancestors, both distant and not even, If you heard how night's eliminated Host has disappeared, could you conceive of The celestial phalanx decimated? The ineffable experience and Vista: human being under cosmos– Then to know that only ignorance and Blindness are your children's heirlooms, almost; Never knew those stars, could you envision: They will not grow up beneath the same sky, And they won't look up to those same heavens. Night now hovers dim like midnight cat's-eyes Up beyond our urban night-light's glowing. You were children awed by constellations, How would your eyes then reflect the lowly Capsule made of lamps which has replaced them? All you barely ancient navigators, Your ubiquitous map that was clear is Now so faded; augurs, fortune-sayers, All the wisdom sought in yesteryears has Vanished and were you to throw those yarrow Stalks, when they would come to rest unanswered You would find in all your mystic sorrow Earth transformed, irrevocably transferred. Oh van Gogh! The world adores your vivid Night the most–for those whom it's been given It's the final human one permitted.
A place for my poems 