A Dark Sky and Some Light

There is a dark sky,

some light pollution

just beside the shore.

He waits for

minutes, days, maybe months

or just one inflicted moment;

kept company by the cloud

that creeps inches away

—only when he closes one eye

and points a calloused finger.

“I’m in love with a  ghost,” he says,

and I wonder if he means

the misleading dust drifting miles

and miles away.

I think he is naive,

an unshaven boy battered

by a shapely figure

pleasant to the eye.

But I remembered being

in love with a star,

the way it danced and burned

and beat me to the dirt.

So I sighed and I heaved

and I held my breath

and closed my eye,

pointing a finger at the speck of dust

that stared down at us

from the night sky.

It was dirty and it was gray

but he swore it was light,

and it was still and it was silent,

but it took the sadness from

his soul, the impassive cloud

of pollution.