The skirt of eternity

The skirt of eternity                                                                                         
 
Hand held as a child returning home
still excited, stiff-necked
 
from the thundering fireworks
above the city green, light years
 
below the immutable constellations.
In my children’s eyes later,
 
viewing their gunshot rise, arc and flare,
reflections, sighs, barely looking up,
 
where once it had burned me
deeper and lasted longer.
 
Now traipsing out an old man,
the lonely, tree-shaped, silent nights
 
to view only the ordinary and trustworthy,
perfectly-aligned comets, moon, planets and stars.
 
O child of God, ignore the passing fancies;
grab onto the skirt of eternity.