We saw a light in the east, after dusk,
a star that hung in the sky,
and which did not rise with the evening:
The pieces of my shattered attention
fall with a bright dying flare
below the horizon, a memory
Both insubstantial and untrustworthy:
did we really see that light,
an ascending star of possibility?
Words are written and the comment posted,
the poem coalesces,
another genteel howl in the darkness.
