nine stars in a low square. a figure sits with the hands folded and the
knees folded and the head only just above the line of the horizon. the
constellation is so still that early atlases mistook it for ruled
margins on the page.
when it rises, things waited for arrive. not always the things hoped
for. those who keep vigil by the
hourglass know its rhythm. the patient
one is sometimes shown teaching the sleeper
how to wait without waking.