Flying At Night

Above us, stars.

Beneath us, constellations. 

Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies like a snowflake falling on cold water.

Below us, a farmer feels the chill of that death

and flips on his yard light.

All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,

tug with bright streets at lonely nights like his.

These are the things I see,

when I am flying at night.