Watching, By Night
By Jonathan Bennett
Bundled in coat and gloves or barefoot in the grass,
I stand beneath the past, unfolded like a map,
Tracing the boundaries of celestial nations.
I observe in cold, still or humid evening air.
I watch as battles begin, end, and rage anew;
I see foretellings of kings rising, falling, and born
As their heralds travel along this starry grid.
And I listen, beneath the howl of winter's wind
Or over chorus of summer's nocturnal choir,
To hear the song that shepherds heard: watching, by night.
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