THE PASSING OF THE WISE MEN
By. Pattiann Rogers
They collected them one by one
like seed-size pearls and put them
in their black velvet bags, gathered
them like small marbles of amethyst
and alabaster, plucked them
like white cherries from a tree.
They placed all of them carefully
in their velvet bags scarcely filled.
And they were patient, gathering
them slowly all their lives, some
like berries of glass, like the slighter
fruit of mistletoe, some appearing
like tiny flames flashing on sunless
river bottoms or shining like quicksilver
schools of fish in the deep. A few
were as cold and black and enigmatic
as skull-sockets where eyes should be.
When the end came, they crawled
into their black velvet sacks themselves,
pulled the drawstrings tight over
their heads, looked around and above
in the speckled dark and more than once
toward the east, then assembled
their instruments and resumed the study
of their everlasting treasures - Sirius,
Polaris, Arcturus, Capella, Vega,
Andromeda, Cygnus X, guides,
messengers, hope.