Music was still ringing in my ears
As I stepped out under the stars.
Black, and frost, and midnight.
Just the wheel of the world
Going round over my head.
Black space, like rhythm.
The space between the notes.
The breath before the song.
Huge space, big as an indrawn breath.
The stars shape the space into stories.
Sword of Orion.
The dancing Bull.
Seven shining Sisters
Snowflakes clustered as a chord.
Sickle Leo, curving mane into a crown.
Betelgeuse pulses wise as the wassail fire
Burns bright as the Fool’s wild heart.
The stories hang there in the stars.
Draw breath at midnight
And feel them catch in midwinter’s throat
Muse: VerbA state of deep thought or dreamy abstraction
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