Flip me upside down

so that the sky is shadowed soft mounds
snuffling with night noise and burrowing
while geosmin brushes my face.
So that my feet dangle above Ptolemy’s hunter
where blue stars burn and
bodies become brighter, brighter as
ancient newborns are suckled in milk,
and aeons are snatched seconds.
So that the past will compel me to watch.