THE 3AM STARS

THE 3AM STARS

3 a.m. stars were holding

brightly tight to their dome

as desert chill challenged three

watchers alarmed from bed.

The Big Dipper’s handle

had fallen straight down,

but upness was everywhere

and never all to be taken in.

Earthbound, we flashlit our

paths around backyard cacti

while overhead, quick meteors

like flaming needles pierced

and sewed at the night.

Several arrived each minute

but seldom did any two

claim the same piece of sky.

Some blazed up so bright

they lit up the desert floor—

doubt but believe.

We embodied three generations,

we watchers who stood or sat

or reclined on a blanket.

Endless depth boggled our eyes

yet we little asked and less knew

why we were alive just then.

Boy, father, grandfather were we.

What all might have happened

or not happened in our three lives

to cause any of us to be absent?

We had beaten unmathematical odds

to meet for this familial, communal

sky harvest, as had the listening lizards

who heard our “Hey!” and “Whoa!”

and “Did you see that one?”

And how better to bond

than under a needled infinity?