by Mary E. Lowd
The complicated touch of an octopus
Is always out of reach
As ungraspable as stars in the sky
Each sucker disc
Moves on its own
All together, they move like a constellation
In the sky
As rare as an eclipse
As far away
Or might as well be
But for a minute
The moon blocks the sun
An alien becomes companion
The octopus takes my hand
Hands upon hands
So many hands
And for a minute
I know what it is
To make friends with a star up in the sky