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THE TELESCOPE
I was never one of those children
Who leaped to catch the stars
Only to feel their fingertips
Brush
Across the heavens
I was never the watcher, the map-maker
The constellation
Finder
I was the one who gazed into the places between
Who marveled not at the light
But at the depths
Not the child who looked up
But down
Watching as the skies fell away from me
Into nothingness
I was the child who waited,
Eager, on a full-moon night
Dancing across the lawn in greeting
As though I could urge on the purple evening
To fly faster
With each beat of its powerful wings
And I was the child who ran forward,
First in line—oblivious—
Clambered up onto the battered stool
And pressed the cool metal against the curve of my nose,
Lens to lens...
And it was I who stepped back
Disappointed, not in the beauty of the pockmarked moon
But at how little of its surface
Lay hidden in shadow
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