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November 22-25, 2020


I look up, from the bottom of the sky

forever starts HERE, right at my feet

in the middle of the bottom of it all

right HERE is where all the UP begins

across, around, traverse and over

are but lines scribed along this rock

(single mindedly long-or-latitudinal)

serving only to return me to my start

HERE at the bottom of everything

but the out, the Out, the endless OUT

rises from the grass into glorious light

where, BEYOND thin fragile sheath of air

no longer pleased to carry Earthly dust

blinding dark suspends galaxies instead


and it begins right HERE, at my feet

at the top of the bottom of everything

could they but tread some upward path

stride free to night from brilliant day

as Orion himself I would gird my belt

roam the skies where sisters clustered

dance within their blue-gauzed glory

gaze awe-struck at Megellanic cloud

untroubled stride the great empty vast

beyond Andromeda, and look back down

along the road I’ve wend from THERE

and feel the FOREVER, barely touched

lay hold again my wayfaring heart

soft call me out, and Out and OUT

OUT where wonders scarce imagined




Bottom of the Sky

A poem by Peter Rhebergen

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