I watch you, a view
whose angles trip pictures up
beneath the footing of our daily passage.
Above, parted, are our stars.
One, singular, falls --
a smoking jewel wondering
and sluffing off the expanse of night.
The willows shudder, and we make our wishes
beneath the stars which haven’t fallen.
I look for anything worthwhile.
I search constellations
hoping to find out how and why it is
I’m here with you.
c. Melissa K. Furbush, 2009
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