BY JULIE CHEN
One morning a thousand years ago, pale clouds
Bowed to sapphire sky. Trees held their hairs
In place. The birds choked their song in their throats.
The moon emerged in broad daylight, humbly
Cloaked in black in the sun’s bejeweled vision.
Despite difference in their realms of ruling,
The celestial couple solemnly shares a slow
Embrace. But heaven forbids such outrageous
Meetings. The lights go out in the cosmos.
The sun chokes in its haloed ring of fire.
People arched their necks. Fingers clutched fur pelts
That rested upon shoulders. The sun has gone out,
They whisper. We have
wronged the gods. And men
Mend their shortcomings and pray for the future.
One morning yesterday, smog deluged charcoal sky.
Buildings sat stiffly—Backs against the horizon.
Cameras brace. Streetlights illuminate.
The moon emerges once again, draped in
The same inky veil that adorned her figure
Since the beginning of time—But the old sun
Is blindfolded amidst the overcast smog.
And the stellar pair brush past, shoulder to
Shoulder, friction bruising the fading sky.
For a second, the universe stained black.
People arched their necks, fingers clutching black
Sunglasses. They’ve
met in their ecliptic
Orbits,
they marvel, Finely calculated
Syzygy
of two astronomical objects.
The sun’s corona
emits eerie glows as
People stand under the moon’s umbra.
And science becomes man’s remedy, for there
Are no heavenly omens when one peers through
A telescope with a heart full of reason.
