teeth with lanterns in the deep,
watercolors in the sky,
and duckbilled platypuses...
You'd think the wonders of this world
would be enough.
But if I let my eyes drift up
into a sharp black sky,
the wonders multiply:
each star's another sun,
each hazy patch, a million more,
and marching ever fainter on
to realms of space and time
beyond the edge of reason:
trillions upon trillions more. And spinning
round those roiling spitting furnaces:
lands and lives and monstrous creatures
slithering, splashing and sliming
on purple worlds with orange skies.
Those tiny lights, those pale white gems
upon a black and satin evening gown,
just sparkles in the night. But what
must waken at their dawnings?
So in the darkness, here I stand,
still two years old, still gazing up,
Christmastime and the shelves overflow
but my arms are so very short.
— Randy Minnich
Randy Minnich, a retired chemist, lives in McCandless. He is a member of the Squirrel Hill Poetry Workshop and the Pittsburgh Poetry Society. His work has appeared in Main Street Rag, Pearl, U.S. 1 Worksheets and his collection “Pavlov’s Cats.”