Instant.

Biancani, Sphaera Mundi, 1620

The night is fine and dry. It falls and spreads

the cold sky with a million opposites

that, for a moment, seem like a million souls

and soon, none, and then, for what seems a long time,

one. Then of course it spins. What is better to do

than string out over the infinite dead spaces

the ancient beasts and spearmen of the human

mind, and, if not the real ones, new ones?

But, try making them clear to one you love –

whoever is standing by you is one you love

when pinioned by the stars — you will find it quite

impossible, but like her more for thinking

she sees that constellation.

After the wave of pain, you will turn to her

and, in an instant, change the universe

to a sky you were glad you came outside to see.

This is the act of all the descended gods

of every age and creed: to weary of all

that never ends, to take a human hand,

and go back into the house.

Glyn Maxwell