We climbed out a window and lay on the roof.

The Universe sprawling out above us, in all directions.

I fell in love long ago with the silent silver streaking

Of shooting stars.

Fragments flaming, falling.

The crisp pinpricks of distant suns,

Some daring to be blue or orange to a human eye.

The black spaces in between, so full of what we cannot see.

Once I saw a comet, its tail a smudge.

It sat there, as though it were ordinary,

As though it did not come from the icy edge

Of all that we hold dear.

And once, an eclipse of the moon;

It turned blood red before my eyes.

It did not disappear,

But sat there disquietingly

In its rouge.