The town does not exist

except where one black-haired tree slips

up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.

The town is silent.  The night boils with eleven stars.

Oh starry starry night!  This is how

I want to die.

 

It moves.  They are alive.

Even the moon bulges in its orange irons

to push children, like a god, from its eye.

The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.

Oh starry starry night!  This is how

I want to die:

 

into that rushing beast of the night,

sucked up by that great dragon, to split

from my life with no flag,

no belly,

no cry.