How many stories among the stars.The boats come in. The boats go out.
Our friend is dying. He writes,he says, more often. Yet more sparely.
Now to see what wasn’t seen before.
. . .
We stay up all night again to scanthe sky from our deck above the bay.
How slow the constellations spin.Invincible heroes. Unrequited loves—
until, it seems, we’ve lost all count.
. . .
Soon we’ll go, too. Star, therefore, to start.A cargo freighter pulls across the waters.
We can tell from the placement of the lights,the slow procession of it all. And so it’s dawn.
Did I say invincible? I mean invisible.
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