Tuesday, April 7, 2015

2015 Poem 7: Ode to an old telescope

What we have seen.
Carding the beams
as mice fell to the ground.
Artifacts found,
come-alongs to winch
when short by an inch
or as much as a meter.

Still, little was sweeter
than a stack that was tight
on a warm moonless night,
non-sidereal tracking
(a short time for slacking).
Skies that could not be clearer.

And multiple mirrors.

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