In Passing Moments
No one witnessed the tiny
speck of dawn, born
in very moment that
a giant star had died
and sent this bit of
iron hurtling through the
velvet deep of space,
wandering there in solitary
wonder for over
ten thousand million years.
But then one day,
it found itself on perfect course,
toward a little yellow sun,
its light piercing and intense.
But a tiny blue white dot
got in its way, and in the air
of that new world,
it vaporized and then departed,
shouting with a dazzling streak,
its journey now complete.
“It’s called a shooting star,”
the father told his kids.
“Or some know them best as
meteors. I’m sure that
if you stay outside, you’ll see
another just as nice since there’s
a shower of them tonight.”
“Naw, we’re playing
video games downstairs,
and anyway, I’m winning.”
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