Kilmer imagines the stars not as distant suns but as living pieces of a divine story. First, they’re playful—perhaps strands of the Virgin Mary’s hair slipping through the clouds, or the bright eyes of infant angels peeking down at the spinning world with amusement. Then the tone deepens. The speaker sees the stars as the nails pulled from Christ’s wounds, set in the sky by the archangel Michael, still red and unhealed. Finally, they are sparks flying from the swords of God’s soldiers battling Hell, flashes that rush past the face of God. Throughout, the voice is full of tender wonder and fierce faith. The mood shifts from gentle, nursery-like fancy to something more solemn and militant, yet it all holds together with a sense that the night sky is intimately connected to Christian love and sacrifice. It’s a poem that makes the cosmos feel both childlike and sacred.
Stars — Summary
(For the Rev. James J. Daly, S. J.)
Bright stars, yellow stars, flashing through the air, Are you errant strands of Lady Mary's hair? As she slits the cloudy veil and bends down through, Do you fall across her cheeks and over heaven too? Gay stars, little stars, you are little eyes, Eyes of baby angels playing in the skies. Now and then a winged child turns his merry face Down toward the spinning world -- what a funny place! Jesus Christ came from the Cross (Christ receive my soul!) In each perfect hand and foot there was a bloody hole. Four great iron spikes there were, red and never dry, Michael plucked them from the Cross and set them in the sky. Christ's Troop, Mary's Guard, God's own men, Draw your swords and strike at Hell and strike again. Every steel-born spark that flies where God's battles are, Flashes past the face of God, and is a star.