Pattiann Rogers

“The Congregating of Stars

They often meet in mountain lakes,
No matter how remote, no matter how deep
Down and far they must stream to arrive,
Navigating between the steep, vertical piles
Of broken limestone and chert, through shattered
Trees and dry bushes bent low by winter,
Across ravines cut by roaring avalanches
Of boulders and ripping ice.

Silently, the stars have assembled
On the surface of this lost lake tonight,
Arranged themselves to match the patterns
They maintain in the highest spheres
Of the surrounding sky.

And they continue on, passing through
The smooth, black countenance of the lake,
Through that mirror of themselves, down through
The icy waters to touch the perfect bottom
Stillness of the invisible life and death existing
In the nether of those depths.

Sky-bound- yet touching every needle
In the torn and sturdy forest, every stone,
Sharp, cracked along the ragged shore- the stars
Appear the same as in ancient human ages
On the currents of the old seas and the darkened
Trails of desert dunes, Orion’s belt the same
As it shone in Galileo’s eyes, Polaris certain above
The sails of every mariner’s voyage. An echoing
Light from the Magi’s star, that beacon, might even
Be shining on this lake tonight, unrecognized.

The stars are congregating, perhaps
in celebration, passing through their own
names and legends, through fogs, airs,
and thunders, the vapors of winter frost
and summer pollens. They are ancestors
of transfiguration, intimate with all the eyes
of the night. What can they know?”
― Pattiann Rogers, Quickening Fields

“Mothers,fathers,our kind,tell me again that death doesn't matter.Tell me it's just a limitation of vision ,a fold of landscape,a deep flax-and-poppy-filled gully hidden on the hill, pleat in our perception a somersault of existence,natural,even beneficent even a gift,the only key to the red-lacquered door at the end of the hall,"water within water," those old stories.”
― Pattiann Rogers