Dark Cloud Constellation
Because our dreams were always linear,
our markers white, we only saw
the Cross, a dot-to-dot for
mad flag wavers.
Because our dreams were white lines,
we did not see a beaked nebula,
a neck stretched along
the Milky Way.
Because our dreams were white fences,
we did not see a great bustle, legs
trailed between stars.
The almighty emu in the sky.
An earlier version of this poem was published in Westerly (54:1).