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From Greek, astro-, “star” + physis, “nature,” “emergence,” “being,” or “presencing”

Like the birth of a star, crowning once out of a pocket. Put in a pocket
by a youngster enchanted by pockets. Along with
an igneous rock and a green plastic army guy—one cannot be too prepared

to ride off recklessly out of the Horsehead nebula—
kicking up collapsing clouds of dust and interstellar gasses,
riding on the headless horse, heedlessly
holding a hat, let’s say it’s a cowboy hat
lifted skyward. Yelling, Yippee! or Yeehaw! around
the rings of Saturn, cap guns blazing.

Such is light and the movement of light. And the birth of light.

The solar wind is always in its hair, as it flies past many moons,
for many moons: Io, Callisto, Amalthea, the undone
belt of asteroids, the Bellicose
planet, too, discarding its shirt and shoes and hurtling into
the stratosphere. Gathering here. On earth as it is in heaven, naked and
childlike among the crickets at twilight.
Such a humble hour to be singing gospel hymns
to mosquitos and fireflies. And for us—
to gather all of them as stardust. To stuff into the deepening pockets of night.

First published in issue 11, Spring/Summer 2015, of Sugar House Review.