The night no planes flew, the stars breathed deep,      	
knowing their places again. Strange how living goes on,  

that the dog and I walked the river road like every night before.  
Trees carved a hallway in heaven and a chorus of stars 

moved with us, step for step. No planes blinked 
or stitched their perfect hems, no human roamed the sky.  

Cassiopeia loomed low at the end of the lane. It seemed, 
with strength and time enough, I might reach the edge 

of the world and climb into her luminous lap. Resting easy, 
bending close, she lay across my corridor of dark.  

Then a star cut through her, fleeting stroke of fire    
that blazed its own healing, and I paused for joy

bursting, seizing its wish on this one night: to fall
into her black proud beauty—on this night, to aspire.