Pilot Star

Some nights when you have gone to sleep
I go up to the roof and look for my pilot star,
my navigation star,
my guideline, my trajectory,

the place I am heading
when I stretch out my arms
and leap off the roof
and leave this silly planet behind.

Once I find it, I could go anywhere.

Fling myself out into the black sea,
skip upon every world whirling around the sun:
angry Jupiter, mysterious Saturn,
the frozen pebble of silent Pluto.
I could just keep going, out beyond the asteroids,
out past the dusty corner of everything
humans have ever known,
into the dark, into the dark,
until I find out where space ends
and nothing begins.

I never find it, my pilot star.

It is not there.
I will search and stare and hunt
for my pilot star until the night is almost spent
and then I will go in and lie down next to you,
next to the smell of your hair,
the heat of your body, the shape of you,
and I will know why.

Jupiter has its storms
and Saturn its rings
and forgotten Pluto cold secrets,
but only the Earth has you.

This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
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