Michael Z Cheng
Sep 3, 2018 · 1 min read

little shadows hurtling westward,

fast as we go, against the sunrise.

we share a little window: it’s blindingly bright,

so blindingly bright.


looks around and wonders why

they all took the day by surprise,

and snuck out of night’s bed before

the stars realized they were -gone,

to that place of places, bay of wings,

our homeless home.


a little cry, in the dark, and a worried brow.

her wrinkled skin, wringing hands cling -

I look away, and through the porthole.

off and on, into the light

and into the light.