Some time before dawn
he howled clear the night
exhaustion into clear silence
and fell flat and flat-eyed.
Tiny pinpricks all over,
bright needle healing points just
right spotting the black expanse;
scattering, plumes, syncopating, netted densities—
constellations, inlaid wonder and history, an even
horizon holding more than charts and degrees.
So, precise, cold and far off-- yet by a glance
embracing and invigorating all laid before that cold,
that cold clasped crack about to open a warmth,
a warmth about to overtake
a brightness about to be
not points or pricks
some time before dawn.