Constellations

The stars are Bedouin fires
in Saharan expanses of sky;
the stars are swirlings of milk
in the cold black water of night.

Or the stars are luminous fruit
on invisible tangles of vines.

Or the stars are pearls on the veil
of a sleeping Nubian queen.

If I could eat lamb and couscous at those fires;
if the water could numb me and sting;

or if I could crush the fruits to wine and drink;

or lift the veil to find
eyes returning my gaze -

then I would drop my pen in ecstasy
and let the stars write on me
the savage myth
behind each constellation.

I'm not holding my breath.