Very Star

“In the navy sky the pursed lips of the yellow moon whistle-flap in snorey rhythms that blow the tassel end of its long night cap up and down to reveal-conceal one sleeping eye, shut, long lashed and flat. A star squeezes out from the pointed moon’s crescent chin with the sound of a cork popping. It drags behind it letters that spell pop! in jagged outlines, and a fast-moving fishing line follows. The sky expands with the sound of a slide whistle, and white stars prick through: plink, plink, high grace notes on a toy piano. The star drags the line as it drops through the sky, past planets, starlets, rockets that spin, through clouds, over rooftops, chimneys, steeples, smokestacks, train tracks, bridges, quilty fields of fence-trimmed squares, treetops. The star drops fast and heavy, pulling the line like spider gut silk.”