the star at the heart of things
when I halve an apple,
today
now with opened eye
in asterisks and cat’s eyes
I think perhaps
a cranberry,
I find perfect stars
in the heart of each half,
remembrance of the moment
when bloom became flesh
there is a star again
in the core of the log
which feeds the fire,
five cracks splitting the dry wood
each on its own way
to find the world
beyond home
I see them everywhere
waiting to delight,
in snowflakes and starfish
and pods of sweet anise,
in the silken valleys of flower cups
and the markings of beetles,
and the golden stars of kindergarten
stuck like jewels on the foreheads
of very good children
the soul’s navel
is a golden star,
lighter, prettier,
than the body’s whirligig
dimple,
a bon voyage kiss
from the family,
a reminder
of return.