The Night of the Shooting Stars
April 2 2010


The night of the shooting stars
the sky cleared
we craned our necks;
looking up,
but intensely aware
of each other’s presence.
We could connect the dots of the Big Dipper,
but the rest was lost to us
unacquainted with the night sky —
blinded by light
always rushing.

Most burned short and bright.
But some left long distinctive trails,
and we wondered if they might have survived the eons of space
to land, intact, on planet earth —
a sharp deep furrow
a small black rock,
charred, and smouldering.
The impact would be instantaneous
— death by falling object
the billion-to-one shot.
One of us, anyway.

Stuff raining down everyday
utterly indifferent.
So that so much depends
on random intersections in time and space —
good luck, or not,
love won
and lost,
forgetfulness
or holding on.
Even the constellations
are not fixed.
But it’s these unpredictable stars
streaking through the cosmos
we fear
and wish for.

It was the night of the meteor shower,
— when broken bits of asteroids
crossed paths
with this massive unstoppable planet —
I turned my gaze back to earth,
searching in darkness
only to see you were gone.