Amy Miller

The simplest way to find a star:
up to Orion's bright buckle,
then clean left, infinite right—
a matter of which hand to take.

Forget the equatorial, oily
one-ton mount, darling
of the telescope shop,
nickel-black teeth and gears,

the one they say you'll want.
Then it's too much,
dragging it down the dark walk
into the gophered garden.

You'll wish you had one
as simple as the sky—
black board, light flying
into your eye this second,

ones and twos
of nursery mathematics:
Over, up,