Afterburners

Heaven looks hazy
It’s hard to see
I smile toward Orion
It’s his time to shine

November
Late
Awake
Wondering

I crane my neck
Hoping
Wishing
Before wishes appear
That they do.

The sky skimps of stars at first
Either stationary or shooting
But I know more exist
Even ones I haven’t seen

I lie in the parking lot
Cars block the street lamps
Suddenly at 2am
The show begins

A cluster dances
A far frenzy
A small swarm
Chasing each other

More appear
Mere blinks arcing
But I don’t have to squint
Just wish.

I see five.
My eyes have adjusted.

Four Photos

I made Becky take some photos of me before the pretty party. Note two major seldom occurrences: Curled hair and stilettos. This may not happen in this combination again for at least another year. Kind of like the conjunction of the moon, Venus and Jupiter from two weeks ago. Or like last night’s proximity of the moon to the earth. Did y’all know about the largest full moon of the year last night? It was like a floodlight or the one beam from the mothership ready to take me up. The roof of the pretty party was the perfect romantic setting, cold enough to have some dashing man remove his tuxedo jacket to keep me warm and then embrace me from behind while we gaze at the moon and then into each other’s eyes, our heads, like orbs around a star, gravitating toward a midpoint as a winter’s heavenly kiss. No such thing happened, though. I don’t know why, because wouldn’t you want to smooch the lady below? Click on the photos for the closeup. At your own risk, of course.