Aurora dreamtime

                                                       Of Rudd and revolutions 


You come, a younger stranger from afar

than last we saw.  You come, though we’re still here
as though we’re stuck inside your show.  A star
is born, they say, not made — for what we fear

is written, not performed.  The crowds that cheer
for you, your loves, your lovers, all you are,
are not ourselves, those witnesses who hear
you come, a younger stranger from afar

than last you were.  Now bow ye down and calm
the journeyed nerves!  Now be you without peer,
our light-show!  Rise if you will do less harm
than last we saw you!  Come, though we’re still here,

as though your golden love’s in every ear
that listens!  Your love glistens.  Time to charge
a glass to this: the very skies grow near
as though we’re stuck inside.  Your show, ‘A Star

Is Born,’ the myth that made the myth: it’s far
indeed.  Your fate decreed that you would sear
through airspace here, before… or so the star
is born – they say not made – for what we fear.