They tell me the desert is freezing at night
and has more stars than I can imagine
with my familiar Plough, Cassiopea and Orion
pricked out against the felt-black sky.
You lie on the petrified earth, beneath
the dizzying galaxies, streaming
into the milky distance,
indifferent as ice crystals.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Maggie Butt would be
pleased to hear them.