Stars, you are the heavens' flock Tangling your pale wool across the night sky Stars, you're bits of oily fleece catching On barbs of darkness to swirl in black wind You appear, disappear by thousands Scattered wide to graze but never straying While I, a mere shepherd of these words, am lost What can I do but build a small blaze And feed it with branches the trees let fall: That twiggy clatter strewn along the ground And lichen crusting such dead limbs glows silver, glows white The earthfood for a fire so unlike and like your own Oh, what can I do but build a small blaze