Tuesday, August 18, 2009: Notcot post 24194, Tang Yau Hoong

Look out from the coast in the day, and there are barriers
For your eyes to crawl over and cling to, like barnacles.

Maybe the grey, smudged fingerprint of a mountain,
the tip of another piece of land, a blurred edge of foam, sand.

At the very least, clouds bunched and catching the wind
Like white linens pinned to a clothesline, reaching into the breeze.

But at night, looking out into the ocean of inky sky
Perforated by pinprick stars, where can your gaze settle.

Sky and star flatten into cloth, embroidered with connected
Dots, with constellations. How can I accept that the sizes

of stars denote not size, but distance, that the tangled strands
of lights unfurl like bulbs loosening, receding, drifting.