My daughter paints dark heavens

on the ceiling of her room.

At night she weaves astronomy

the way I plait her hair,

strand around strand.

Beneath a crescent moon

on the shadowed lawn

she charts her starry dreams:

The seven sisters of Pleiades

are seven plumed horses, 

Orion, a white elephant

she rides in the ring.

Scorpio is the ringmaster’s

many tailed whip,

Gemini acrobats

spin in deep space.

Night blooms the pale petals

of her fingers;

set deep in grass they

unfold,  five stars each

under a dark sky.