Briefly, over lightly settled night,
tungsten filaments flame out.
Sunk in owl hoots and the scratching
of small claws on terracotta pots,
we feel the planet spin below our feet
so fast there’s no chance for dizziness.
Particles fizzle and burn in thin
danger, flickering bright shock
for us sat below to wish upon-
falling, forgotten disintegration.
My outer limits shiver distant.
I am cloud behind emerging stars,
scattered galaxy visible only through
deep darkness and quiet attention,
diffuse yet bound together by gravity,
like the meteoroids we meet yearly
like my body, tumbling through voids
clinging onto a small rock, only
occasionally noticing that down is relative.