Barnard’s Star

The angels dancing on a pin’s head,
the UFO glittering in the night,
the aura left after you have gone –
all of them in my mind.

That faint red dwarf that passes
overhead when I am boiling a kettle
or making the bed
is invisible to the naked eye,

a ball of hydrogen and helium
making for the sun
over eighty miles a second,
certain of its course,

but I know it’s there, just as I steer
through a darkened room
by trust, its familiar contours
charted on my fingers.