The Night of the Shooting Star
In this mid August night Enrobed in wool Wholly surrendered to gravity against the earth I watch in the dark sky Shooting stars coming alive Each meteor begging for attention One I follow from birth to extinction Says to me: “I am but a speck of light in the vast expanse of your vision. Why do you pay attention to me?” I cling to the uniqueness of my star As others display equal if not superior spectacle To the underdog of pyrotechnics And I make a wish that You, the unlucky winner of fewer summers in the lottery of life You, who take an uneasy step every day on a fallen staircase You, beautiful one, robbed of your youth be my star. Let me try to pass you The olympic torch and hope that one day you will run and illuminate the sky. Until then I replay the memory of The night of the shooting stars in mid August.