Bright Star
(for Keats)
Bright star, you are still constant in the sky
against the backdrop of another night
and on your stage, performing in this play
are manmade echoes of your greater light.
The rushing headlamps and the paths of planes
send horns and sonic booms to hurt your ears,
or strange fluorescence, rising out of football games
played after dark with artificial cheers.
No - yet still steadfast, still unchangeable
listening to our broadcasts and our beats
to hear forever their harsh rise and fall
in teenage cars careering down our streets.
Still, still, you watch and wait. Shine and inspire
the poets who search for silence in your fire.