Flying at Night by Ted Kooser Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies like a snowflake falling on water. Below us, some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death, snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn back into the little system of his care. All night, the cities, like shimmering novas, tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his. Bay Bridge
By Jean Anderson Nine silver archers risen above the roar And hum of wheels astound the level roads With their serene triumphant eminence.
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