The bow of the ship is sacred on moonless nights.
You stumble up there, drunk with artificial lights,and sway in the darkness--clinging, staring, blind.
Moment by moment, you are sobered by the black,
until your appetite diminishes. You find
that single photons from long-gone supernovas
are enough to satisfy you. If you look back,
an open porthole seems obscenely bright:
Best if your voyage takes you far beyondwhere city glow demarcates the horizon.
Here nothing separates sky from sea, save
the abrupt absence of stars.
Or not. You see
a luminescent soup, a swarm, in every wave!They are tiny, these planktonic supernovas,
their lifespans shorter than any star or galaxy.
But to your light-thirsty eyes, they are the same:
a single sip.