warm with sweat and short of breath,
I watch the clouds spread out, to blanket the sky.
down in the valley, headlights beckon to me,
like ships on the horizon, far on the sea.
and so, here, on my lonely rock, I sit,
the earth a mirror of the stars.

each light in the distance:
bobbing, on the current,
from Poland, Germany, Australia,
all from worlds foreign to me
and which may forever shall be.

every array of streetlights
– or are they homes? –
all slight motes of dust
suspended on a sunbeam,
so small they do not exist.

we are the lights you see when you blink.

before you leave this space;
before you descend once again,
remember always, what the guide said:


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