Hollywood & Vine Poem by Taylor Graham

How many light-years till a star’s shine
reaches us in our earthly darkness?
All the men-in-black have made their living
by our blindness.

And yet, catch a falling
if you can. They say God pledges
constancy in stars

above mountains, stars beyond the murk
of city lights.

You came here with constellations
on your mind. But in the thick night sky
you only see how mortals
have stepped in mud
to watch it harden around the print
of each flat sole.

Somebody points higher. Heavenly
bodies. In the northeast
Marilyn dazzles down: a trinity of stars
suggests her smile; seven others,
her mythic fly-away skirt.
The next constellation over,
isn’t that DiMaggio?

Every little star we see
is dead, but in our hearts
we don’t believe it.