The sky was dark and clear
this morning as I walked,
stars bright and white,
like on a winter night
when the moon and stars
seem
in a blue/black sea of air,
never to move or fade,
always to blink out their light,
always to be up there as surety and comfort
for sailing ships and airplanes,
for walkers in the early morning dark,
but, of course, we know they won’t.
They’ll dim, fade,
disappear, like first love,
like my mother
when she died.
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