Fernweh

Moonrise was waiting for first light

to send it on it’s modest arc across

the southeast corner of the

starry dome. I rose, stepped out

to warm the car, anxious to catch

up with Boston, out ahead into the day.

Jet planes are time machines. And yet,

the sky stood me still. I lingered.

I noticed how often I stop

to look up, watching, and

wanting to get back to something;

to be where I was

before

I became distracted

by satellites.

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