5/11/23

Photo by Matt Popovich on Unsplash

It’s this night every year that I wish

The fireworks would be above us but in our sight,
that we would gaze at the silent ones, trust the loud ones that the fire will die before it reaches us,
the cheap ones I would light and run away from and fall into not only your arms but trust that

It would fire as perfect as you.

But those nights never happened, and I don’t even know who you are,
but I will

because whenever I try to look for a show out of my window,
the black canvas remains
as if it’s saving the moment for me when I can see them
with you.