Finished at last: his tube of plain brass,
tipped at each end
with a hand-polished miracle.

He stepped out into the Venetian night.

Saturn spinning like a child’s toy.
Jupiter candled with moons. What
the hell?

He took a firm grip on the bar,
braced himself, and levered Earth
out to the dark edges. Simple.

Now it was just a matter
of prying the sun into the middle … and

presto! There you go.
It was surprisingly easy.

Best of all, the Pope would flip out,
a brass rod rammed up his pious ass.
What a night he was having!
Plus, he had just discovered the universe.

But it was getting late.
He put down his telescope
and went inside, moving carefully.
Christ it was dark in there.
All he needed was to knock something over
and wake up Marina, who had long since
lost patience with his wee hour vigils.

She liked early nights, dining at home.
His inventions, his experiments with gravity,
the starry glitter of the court—who needs it?

But she was quick to laugh, and in bed
a great inventor. He eased in beside her.
I will never understand this woman, he thought.