Vintage (Rearranging the Stars)

It’s funny, a star missing its step, forgetting its part in the night, constellating incorrectly. And yet it still feels so utterly complete as I trace its passage across the sky. I examine its patterns, the mother bear and her son and charming little Venus. I begin to laugh. I begin to laugh at all this. I bite my fingers and lick the silver from the cut. I think about the planets orbiting one another, aligning themselves to their own rhythms, as I sway to mine. And I am satisfied when we undulate in unison, and I am more courageous with each sway and I am more merry until I come apart. My shame putters toward the light crowning the cluster. And what was once funny is now holy until a new star misses its step, forgets its part in the night, constellates incorrectly.