Mostly Cloudy, or Celestron XXVI

My telescope has languished

in the closet. It’s too cold

to take it out.

They say it’s gonna

rain. It’s balmy

in the summer—

but the mosquitoes!

Besides, it doesn’t get dark

till 10. By then

I’ve been in bed

a couple hours.

I’m in love

with the noonday

sky, its floating

fluff & fibre,

its milk & wool

Antilles;

its children of

Shamash—

cutting through the

sieves

of cobalt blue;

my neck cranked

up like a crane, who

stands on a single

leg, balanced as a tripod

through it all,

no moans of

I’m too tired,

the snow will

be here soon,

gazing at forever

while she can.

Andreas Gripp

September 4, 2025

Ingrid Valda Taylar