september 10 sky
this night the stars shake in him like fireflies falling in and out of luminescence ’ existence as if being were only affirmed by light .
he fades plum to steely gray freshly bruised grainy and wet like un-developing film the convex curve of his glass dome pushing back against my eyes .
the stars re-exist wriggling between the gaps in my hands like bright buzzing bees pinpricking my palms constellating his space .
his face of a mirror is clay and haze the rippled plain of a lake reaching out in more directions than I know or can count on my incomplete fingers .
cloud cover hugs the shivering stars and they fall out once more .
up ahead the shadow of a tree painted black in the glow of orange streetlamp in the ghost of pathways deadened with people
once whistling scarcely in wild wind fire and flower
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