First Light In the Star Fields

A stone in the backyard, roughly cratered like the moon, a black stone heavy with ancient cinders – fire chipped. Could it be a meteorite or maybe a bit of cold star-fire? It’s so very old, utterly lost even though it is now placed here in my hand - placed for an iota of time. Lots of rocks in the black pock-marked yonder- in the star quarry, Then there is this blind pebble between my fingers. The stars are mad. They glare down upon me as night lets go of Ohio. Perhaps the stars miss this piece of endless night in my hand? Dawn is racing over hedgerows. A lingering starlight glints on the hard ground, the blanching gleams seem angry, even psychotic. A boy on a pedal bike throws a morning newspaper. The daylight rattles as if shaking off a dream. Sol rolls the earth over its violent core, rekindles our eyes. I take the stone back indoors. I’m not sure why, maybe I’ll write a poem about it.