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.
