alone on my back
between midnight and morning,
I wait and shiver
against freezing fingers of wind
slipping up between boards of the deck.
my eyes fixed on the deep above
through frame of roof and treetop
I lose count
they come so quickly
tiny bits of cosmic (more than ancient)
dust on a journey too vast,
for a time too great
to be grasped by the humbled creature
I have suddenly become.
so beautiful the flaring streaks of light.
so elegant their arc and curve.
each blaze a brief and brilliant
is no more.
and I watch in wonder,
in growing terror
that such a thing should be