Mikal Trimm

Grandfather said Look—
And the stars surrounded us, photons
shooting through the pinprick holes
of the perforated curtain of Night.

Look—he said, and put me on his shoulders
So that I could see the tiny furnaces
burning from horizon to horizon, countless
and remote in their casual mastery of the sky.

Look—he said again, clasping his hand
into an arthritic fist, holding it up to my eye
and directing me slowly, finally encompassing
the moon in the tunnel of his fingers.

He said—This is how we will conquer Space;
One light at a time.

Mikal Trimm is fast approaching his hundredth sale of speculative fiction and poetry, and yet the President still won't take his calls.