That’s the sun over there,
the one with the bald head,
picking up that blue vase
and turning it over.
He looks like he knows
something we don’t,
the way he rubs the bottom
with his thumb, as if
to wipe away the darkness.
I think that’s the moon
with the long white hair
next to the table of handwork.
See how she brushes her fingers
over the linens, then draws back
and touches her lips as if
to taste the whiteness.
The moon would do that.
The owner of the universe
sits in the shade of his trailer
smoking. He doesn’t care
if the sun finds what it wants
or the moon can’t make up
her mind. He is showing
a little angel how he can
suck in a comet and slowly
blow out rings of stars.
--Ted Kooser, 2002