We Astronomers

We astronomers are nomads,

Merchants, circus people,

All the earth our tent.

We are industrious.

We breed enthusiasms,

Honour our responsibility to awe.

But the universe has moved a long way off.

Sometimes, I confess,

Starlight seems too sharp,

And like the moon

I bend my face to the ground,

To the small patch where each foot falls,

Before it falls,

And I forget to ask questions,

And only count things.