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August Thirteenth, 1:30 AM, Sitting in my Boston Apartment With the Curtains Open |
If you peek through the window,
you see a meteor,
and you hardly breathe,
thinking, remembering
someone somewhere once thought
the sky was burning,
crumbling, everything always that fragile.
You swear you can see the cracks
just between the shadows, shapes
and constellations. And it’s enough,
you think, to know they are
ageless,
but still if you only traced the stars,
finding one, and the next,
you’d learn.
copyright 2009
Stefanie
Maclin |
