I still remember stars, the wondrous way they flew
Suddenly towards me when the darkness arose
From the thin, distant horizon. They clicked in view,
Holes in a mourner’s curtain the color of crows.
Floating in a pool—can you comprehend the waste?—
In a blue plastic tube, I’d watch them softly shine
High overhead, beyond my reach. The wind I’d taste
As I’d taste the flavors of women, sweet and fine.
No bright stars arise now from this damn rancid black.
The last reported sighting’s been years. In the east
No moon floats, sated and full. Once it used to track
Time’s progress. But progress—and yes, light--now has ceased.
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