I Want to see the Stars Undressed

I want to see the stars undressed. 
I want them to swell into a dark sky above a ragged bowl of mountain peaks. 
I want the autumn air so, so clear it stings. 
I want to walk beyond the ring of fire
            and let the heat leak from my jeans. 
I want the stars to get naked, slowly, as my pupils ring wide
            and my animal brain prepares to hunt and run. 
I want to stare into deep time, see the giants and the dwarves. 
I want the black black to glow with light so old it makes me dizzy, 
            and I have to lie back on the ground
            and cling to handfulls of frosty grass. 
I want the Milky Way to spread her legs above me
            and show that brush stroke of a hundred billion suns,
            and me a constellation of tiny, meaningless mysteries
falling, falling out along edge of the galaxy.

JWW 10/5/16

[Wrote this in Wild Writing. I think the poem we listened to was called “Why I Read the National Enquirer.” Can’t find it. The line that stuck with me was “I want to see the stars undressed.”]