The Poet you want to be, Starwatcher, must
explain the constellated cosmos in terms
neighborly as your backyard or dead-end street
at the west edge of your rural village, near
Verging Creek's east bank.
No prejudices must be allowed to disrupt
poems of BlueShift standing (shirtless, shoeless) on
an ancient flat rock in Verging Creek's shallows,
the current having dampened his jeans' tattered
cuffs and dark blue socks.
Write, as well, the epic poems of Friday and
Saturday nights: the drive-in theater; then
pizza and salad bar at the Pompeian;
then driving township roads for hours to talk on
the c.b.'s airwaves.
Starward-Led
Author's Notes/Comments:
During the Summer of 1976, I saw a certain quality of morning light, that I began to call "that light," twice: on Saturday, June 19th when exiting a big-box store; and again on Thursday, September 9th, in my parents' car after existing the bank's drive-through to withdraw my book money on the way (enforced transportation) to college, forty-five minutes northeast (by interstate highway) from our small town. The c.b. handle, Starwatcher, that my First Beloved BlueShift had helped me receive, was able to hold me together during this first compulsory separation from BlueShift. I did not return home until Tuesday evening, November 23rd, for a Christmas Break that extended through Saturday, January 1st, 1977.