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Barnard's Star
The angels dancing on a pin’s head,the UFO glittering in the night,
the aura left after you have gone––
all of them in my mind.
That faint red dwarf that passes
overhead when I am boiling a kettle
or making the bed
is invisible to the naked eye,
a ball of hydrogen and helium
making for the sun
over eighty miles a second,
certain of its course,
but I know it’s there, just as I steer
through a darkened room
by trust, its familiar contours
charted on my fingers.
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