by Uche Ogbuji
For the boy the first words of whose employ
Made a song and a sway for the sight of the moon
For the boy thence grown every day, every night
With a book by his bed, a model off-head
Of the stars, of the planets, all mystery of space,
For the boy ever planetarium-rapt,
Always at questions: his role? his place?
The moon with a waxing of blood on its disk,
Whether crouched for the hunt, or up noon-way soared,
In eclipse it’s a-wink, old mischievous coin,
For my boy it’s mint copper, it’s fulsome reward.