In the city the stars are shy.
They whisper celestial secrets
Only amongst themselves
And to a passing moon
They hide behind the haze of overcrowding.
They make a compact with all who live there.
The small stars will not look down.
Big people will not look up.
At night here in the desert
I hear the stars shouting
In the west Venus yells, “I am here!”
From the east, the Martian counterpoint.
The growing half moon joins in
With the span of the Milky Way
Where small men look to
The blatant glory of the stars.