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.