Aires hung there dimly as we smoked,
The dark night luminescent with fireflies
And jasmine perfuming fat summer air.
The Ram I said, the Ram as though I knew
All about it, that low, homely group
Of far away stars, no more a Ram
Than the commercials bleated.
My dad – he knew about a Ram,
Walking his drunken old legs over
Rocky slopes strewn with cacti,
Winded from thin air far higher than
His delta homeland.
He told of a Ram standing not two
Hundred yards, cliff side.
“I could have shot him, but he
Looked straight at me, and I thought
About the long walk down dragging
His carcass and I laughed.”
I always remembered that walk,
That Ram was the real Aires
Dimly lit and plain, flat
Along the far night sky.