Orion’s Belt

The night is crisp and sharp so the stars are winking 
Down on us. I always look for Orion’s Belt and trace a line
Connecting three dots, threading a pearl necklace,
Interpreting the grooves in Braille, turning the page and 
Counting how deep the ink stain goes— rituals to marvel 
At the serendipitous alignment in a universe turned askew. 

I have learnt to spot signs like these — it’s becoming me to
Press close and listen to the whispers in the dark. Or,
When the words thread themselves into a poem, I will
Kiss it shut and seal it away so it does not become a 
Gasp that dissolves into the night. Do this long enough 
And the toppled universe might right itself, and I might find
My pen again, to close the book and start a new one.