you will go on telescope stilts
far away into the certain darkness
—Zbigniew Herbert
I finally grasped the ghostly nature of stars—
whose light can travel long after their cores collapse.
I turned our telescopes to the ground.
The universe, such a disappointment, mostly empty space.
I needed some height, some perspective,
so I re-fashioned our brass companions as stilts.
Satisfaction in the twist and click, as each cylinder
locked into place for the last time.
It was good—the small problems to solve.
The lens caps became rubber skids. Old switch-plates
were strapped to the focus knobs as footholds.
I felt better on my stilts, lifting each foot
with its heavy weight, learning to balance.
My center of gravity was off-kilter, pivoting
left and right, forward and back.
I learned to scissor-step with some grace.
I ventured out again,
above the clamor and the demanding eye-contact.
Even our mother understood.
How could I walk around like you were alive?