I seek answers in the sky.
Astronomy. The stars hang like freshly washed clothes.
Around me cities writhe. Pandemics and empty promises
written in neon. When will they preen again?

Can you imagine our lives now?
Astronomy. Replicating the stars
Malcom lived by, Billie sang by. Harriet led by.
Stars made of the dust of a thousand footsteps.

Astronomy. Replicating the stars
that John Carlos held in his fist.
That Sandinistas, or Zapatistas, or all who steer by the stars,
used, to guide their guerilla flights.

I search the riddle above. Its colours promise answers.
Night darkens, astronomy. Replicating the stars.
Those first sailors across the bering strait,
dolphins who dance to feel their skin free.

Now refugees who pile endlessly onto boats,
repeating and repeating and repeating
to anyone who will listen. “I had to leave,
and now there is no land that will take me.”
Still flowing as humans have,
bones haunted and ashes in the mouth.

Long ago I was a girl and saw fireflies.
Astronomy of the fields and trees.
Stars we held, shared breath,
and let go. Astronomy. Long ago.

My eyes paint the urban sky visions and histories.
Astronomy. All of us, those who have left,
those who are here,those to come.
We are born of stars and to them we shall return.

Astronomy of the soil, the dust, the water, the fire, the flesh.
The great unknowing.