The stars wonder too, looking down at us,
where the dinosaurs have gone.
This lonely planet they see, a speck. But what
delight they get from all of our tumblings.
A scraped knee, the ant in the grass.
How the North Star lingers over these
moments. Quiet. To us, he is brilliantly alive
in gas and dust, through the vacuum
of darkness which is the solitude of space.
Come closer, we will tell them. More than
reason built this bridge, made this cathedral.
More than science loved this child. What they know
of us is less than what we know of them.
We shock them with our dreams.
Liz Glodek lives and works in the Midwest. Her work has appeared in several journals including The Greensboro Review, Lumina, North American Review (finalist for the James Hearst Poetry Prize), The North, and Janus Head. She received her MFA from Sarah Lawrence College where she also founded the SLC Poetry Festival. She works in management consulting and is an instructor at Simpson College.