The car hood was finally cooling, the engine cut and the heat of the sun dissipating. Back against the windshields, you look up: stars, like the smattering of freckles across his nose. The city is never dark enough to see anything but the faintest glimmers of light; you’ve been disappointed too many times by the false promise of other worlds that turned out to be the tail lights of airplanes. Even those, you think, are strangely hopeful, reminding you there are still places on this planet that you’ve never been to, and maybe they’re different. You watch in silence, eyes watering as you track pinpricks too perfectly symmetrical to be stars, and point out quivering points of light winking like semaphore; every glimmer proof of something more — something more than this, something more than here.
Moths flock to streetlamps
As we do to stars — desperate
For lights to guide them
Hello! I’m trying to play something like catch-up with OctPoWriMo. This is a form called a haibun, combining a short prose poem with a haiku, and is the closest I’ve gotten so far this month to stream-of-consciousness. Hoping to get at least one more up tonight, and be caught up at some point tomorrow!