Letter to Starlight
and You
There is a certain shade of blue
that belongs to dusk,
a sky-blue-pink
that draws my eyes to the window,
that draws me out the door,
a softening of the hard line
where earth meets sky
so that I can see past the horizon
into everlasting space,
the space where you are
now that I can’t see you.
If the sky were a map
you’d be here, just above the line
where tree and air intersect,
a red pin marking the exact spot
where I saw you last,
bed-bound and bruised, breathing
one more and one more and one last
breath.
The sky was dusky that night, too,
headed toward black, and we two headed
in different directions; you to an unknown
destination and I to home, where
out my window, I watched the stars
blink into view.
