A poetic interpretation of the work done by labies during midnight watch. Dedicated to Jess.
Lend your ear to me awhile, child,
indulge my rhyme and story’s bite
and I will tell you where the stars doth
lay aground to rest in their endless
trek across the universe. Then, knowing
where they nest before mounting sky again,
you shall capture one and hold it,
still shining in your palm as cool fire.
First you must fly far from men’s habitation,
beyond the deserts traveled by caravans,
and into ocean depths rarely crossed
by wood with sail guided, where no city
of man has risen or shall rise to startle
Heaven’s light. Only ship worthy of the sea
disturbs this place of miracles, where
the sky dances with the waters below.
As the vessel plows amidst sleeping stars,
they start with bright but tired spark, that
fades again into the foam with twinkle
and then dark. From above at every
minute a gem descends, falling from
the scales of heaven or Cassiopeia’s
crooked throne, washing in the cool waves
the stardust. Once a while at horizon
the lucky one will spy a star flick and fly
from Earth’s edge in burning splendor
to rejoin her sisters in the wheeling sky.
In this froth of otherworldly life
things inanimate move with shadow
of the living, blind eye rejoins sight
in darkness, and heart heals from
unseen wounds. The air here is suffused
with the Spirit of God, and all that
is coated with the salt of sea is made holy.
Here then, take not sandals off but
hats, before you dip your net to reap
heaven’s harvest. Toss, o child, there
the net, and see it fly through the waters,
assume an ethereal glow, fill with living soul
that snakes and flows alongside vessel.
The stars quicken the fibers with their
touch, and are for instant like the breath
of God as they bump and gather at cod end.
Once done, hoist the catch into bucket,
care for them with salty bath, mix them
into vortex like a small galaxy, then
behold the constellations they draw,
which speak of destiny, far and future things.
Come well prepared with prayer and
blessing, for these are flowers of God’s
garden, and if gilded with goodwill and
starlight, made precious by supplication
to Christ, they are as sure as sunrise to happen,
if you test not with prayer for sunrise in the West.
Child, then you shall join the angels and
the saints, the starcatchers of the cosmic ocean
the elite legion of God admitted yet
whole and living into the Creator’s presence.