Unangled stars, ankle and crown,
reflecting as acentric wheels,
churn as flickers upon the ground
and etch in petroglyphic lines
across the disk across the lake,
the secret sphere under glass,
from which each fertile blade of frost
holds in place its ardent armor.
The hole of cold behind the eye
pulls in pinpoints of skidding light
to read the stars as they’re magnified
and rewrite the sky with its own night.