The Old Astronomer's Home Movies

when the star, his star, at last appeared
the old man smiled and rolled away

from the Cartesian screen and fell
fast asleep, hugging his lumpy pillow

to his chin, its tiny quills sharp and sparse
as his own beard, once more unspooled

his favorite dream, revolving with wolves,
a pack of grieving, so many galaxies

sleeping, spiraled in the snow, their feathery
tails like boas shielding their eyes and noses

their throats percolating on their ruby-red paws
their ears the points of shark-finned stars