The Heavens

(The start of a new poem)

I grew up
in a place
that knew the
stars had names.

Names

for how they
held themselves
in relation to
each other;

names

for how
they held themselves
alone as one.

Today
constellations
do not easily
find themselves
falling from
the lips of
children,
or
of
old
men

either.

The stars are lost
to television; and
the heavens
to an app.

What rusted, broken
wonder will leak
its way into
a soul that cannot
pronounce Andromeda.

What shattered, myopic
awe will ooze from
a heart that does not
know Cassiopeia,
Draco, or Orion's belt.