There Is No Such Thing As a Sky

From the outside, the patient
Was difficult to talk to.
From the inside, she spoke fine.

Un poco allegro, eh?
She thought to herself, watching
The stars conversing up high.

She was trying to get words
To move on their own, from side
To side, the way stars would slide

In their great counterclockwise,
Night after night after night,
Four minutes further each night.

But words in the head aren’t stars,
Aren’t sky, aren’t sidereal.
They’re more like people. They lurk,

Pounce, quarrel, and grumble. Aiii,
She sighed, somewhere deep inside.
How do I get this story

To write itself? And meanwhile,
She frustrated visitors
By strange grimaces and smiles.