Stars hung heavily from the mid-autumn sky,
so heavily, I’m amazed they hung there at all.
Clinging to oranges, then mauves, then blacks,
like tiny twinkling thumb tacks on ink soaked paper,
they pulled it, twirling it, always toward the horizon
and then I watched helplessly as one clung no more.
I lay on my quilt of greens and blues
and little fabric men depicting family moments passed.
I watched and I blinked and the star was gone,
fallen forever from that sky of swimming octopi.
I imagine, sometimes, a man with a quill,
scrawling stories in the multihued azure,
punctuating them with a gleam of starlight and then,
moving on to another–ending it just the same.