An Arrow that Shoots

In which I take "There in the Heavens," based on a Pablo Neruda poem, and transform it into a series of "choka" poems.

​An arrow that shoots
Before my eyes, amid the
Turning spheres, amid
The roving planets, there in
The sky, this once-green 
Ballista, which once had roved.
You are above our
Curving earth, these clutches of
Constellations, only You

In the heavenly
Arches, living, in the vast
Hall, the darkness like
Light, the sea in the sky,
No Mars, no Venus
Before that celestial
Architecture. And
So many black dots impelled
From the mountain trails, blackness

Proferring their bright
Halo, scoring, like stars, the
Crushed earth, like tumbling
Stones, white as the sprung rime of
Antarctic spring. This
Corncake hanging heavy on
Stalk. This, the only 
Face (that contains every face)
Out of this way station from

Nothing, the only
But the all sheathe of the corn
Amidst the shadowed
Stones, its letters and words black
And leaping, a ship,
The first kindly creature of
The sky, tumbling and
Spawning, creating now the
Fields of its habitation.