Gary Short

Brighter

The darker the night

the brighter the stars. Vast

dark holes and an occasional flare.

We pick out the constellations

and try to read them

like grains of coffee or tea leaves

at the bottom of a drained cup.

Heartlines and lifetimes intersect

in the palm of the left hand. Everything

crossing into something else.

The earth spins and the wind

does what it can. I know how

the story ends. When the stars

recede into a larger brightness

and the birds begin their song,

repetitive and intent, we will be unable

to count the beads of water

left glinting in the slender grass and clover

as the morning resolves into day.