Analysis of SEEKING HEAVEN

In this land that’s never dark,
my poor telescope searches
the moon swimming in a haze,
unsteady, stumbling as if drunk.

The fireflies appear as stars
amid the cattails and milkweed,
here now… gone now… there now,
High… low… on… off… no hurry.

On this patch of suburban lawn,
I turn three-sixty, a wanderer
intoxicated by drink and nature,
Peering into the eternal night.

Galileo, you magnificent soul,
your primitive tool was enough
to plumb creation, map the planets,
give lie to myths and legends.