Little Cassiopeia

Stare up at the woman

who hung the moon for you,

at the man who whittled out

stars for you to chase

into the sky. It was a game,

they said, but really

they wanted to teach you how

to swim in stardust currents,

which was your birthright,

but neither one knew

what to do with comets or

nebulae, for she was a fish

and he was the lesser dog of two.

But they did their best

and showed you all they saw,

and taught you the names

of every pinprick of light,

and sent you flying out

after those stars, laughing

full of night and the sense of right

particular to children

who know where they belong.

Go out, little diamond, little Queen,

go out! and settle

wherever in that darkling tapestry

it pleases you to shine.