In darkness, a full composure,
surrounded by a crown of swollen
rocks, trees, and sloping crests,
The Perseids shot streaks
across the sky. The night was warm and
the new moon wore a cloak of shadow.
A few lights around the garden
lit up the scene, a handful of guests
putting hunger and thirst away, enjoying
poetry and song. Few stars above:
Mars alone gazed prominent
red over the cusp of the horizon.
Once the guitars’ strumming sank
to echoes in the humid night,
and the story was concluded
in a triumph–liberty!–the lights
receded at a footwise pace. My eyes
adjusted, gently sinking into the night,
and I heard the soft rush of water
against smoothed stones below
the bridge, and I cast my throat towards
that immense, open air: distant lights
and the occasional shot streaked
across the sky.