Through impossible distance,
the star shines into my eyes.
The waxing moon, much closer,
mirrors sunshine across the night sky haze.
Airplanes’ blinking beacons trace travel
from treed horizon to treed horizon.
We seek to see the Perseids, shooting stars
of August, meteor showers, patiently.
My wife finally sees one but I have my head down
while the nurse suctions saliva from my mouth.
There were more meteors last night I hear.
But the darkness, even diluted with city lights,
is worth watching for the sake of the show.