In the hierarchy of the planets and the stars,

Sun is the king,

and he knows it.


Alone with his thoughts, his potential is lethal;

heavy as the world he observes,

soldered to his order


Funded by God

to do the hardest job;

to harvest the universe


Set the heavens onto a piece of parchment,

place the planets on a map

and hope they didn’t stray


But through his telescope,

he noted those

heavenly bodies swung


A string of pearls

Moving purposefully

So tunefully he could almost hear them hum


Baptized by light

That beam,

that sun, was their Marshall


And the Canon he is, he propels from lunatic to astronomer

out of the darkness and then back in again

In continual pendulum, with the weight of the truth


Silence, up high is neat, folded

Heated discussions belong to Bishops, Cardinals,

running free in the world downstairs,


But the quiet

He holds it between two hands

Watches it quake


They reside in different worlds entirely,

he and they do

His attic room, a troubled vestibule;


the trajectory of the planets that will change the world forever

and their world,

covered in dust, achingly archaic.


He invites them to witness the other planets mobilising

and with their laughter comes an invisible wish,

attached to an invisible cord


To keep him and the planets in their place, forever

Copernicus.  Shortlisted for the WoLF Poetry Prize 2018. Published in the WoLF Anthology.