The life of a spy

He does his job
Time consuming

He balances his work against duty to family and god
He dreams of the day he can take off
Fly down to Mexico

But the day comes
When he is sent upon an errand
And discovers
Those he trusted gave their life
and those that he will meet
await quietly
what he will deliver them
And once he is done
that simple object
be it information
or a handshake
A welcome hello
the warmth of human contact
he will scream out his pain
as they converge
drink his blood
and the notes that fall gently
like rain
of his last dying breath
and blood covering his glasses
bearing the retrovirus
that they needed to survive
will be music to him
a strange music
a miracle
he will die to see them live
and live to see life
from his blood and flesh
omega man
his dying text message pointed skyward
why hast thou forsaken me
the answer comes
as clouds gather in the sky
because my son
because you are a spy

I wandered home
and the next day
in cold granite stone
I placed a single star
upon a wall
alabaster night
galactic day
a place
where the work of gifted hands
open mind
open eyes
and cold blonde stone
can shape your hands
the light can shape your eye

That night I looked up
and wish that it might come to pass
not fade like all the rest
A star we have not yet reached
who if it had a name
has no location
And gives its light against the darkness
that life springs forth
from comet, ash and rock
and the seed of the beast
at the center of the universe
and Bettie Page