A December Poem

Under the dome above, we look up,singing children's canticles,our own domed heartsclutched by the promiseof something new becoming—a Cassiopeian beautyor Cygnus bearingthe inner Northern Crossof a pure heart.We cannot name the clusters then,major constellationsin the northern spheres,but we learn again a yearningwhen others attend stars,when something new becomesthe pointing, gazing upat a university night sky,the class final to identify configurations,astronomy's passionate professorstanding by, marking stars off,one by one, with the same ancientsummons and longingthat seeks stars for signs,that dreams of something new becoming,that turns about to followOrion or some other HeavenlyShepherd of the sky.