except


where   one    black


  haired       tree

         slips
          up
         like
a  drowned woman into
         the
         hot
         sky.

        The

        town

    is      silent.

        The


night   boils    with


  eleven      stars.

         Oh

       starry

  starry      night.

    This

     is

how   I   want

     to

    die.

         It


moves.   They   are


    all      alive.

         Even

          the

  moon   bulges  in its

         orange

         irons

                 to

                 push

     children, like a god from

                 its

                 eye.

                  The

                  old

    unseen serpent swallows up

                  the

                stars

                 Oh

               starry

          starry      night.

         This

          is

    how   I    want

          to

         die:

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.

-- 'The Starry Night' by Anne Sexton