an evening stretches out for miles,

beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined.

cumulus clouds carry clear skies in caskets

during the dying dreams of day.

Eridanus emerges out from under the clouds,

flickering like it wants to say something. I blink as a

greeting and god, maybe this is what Prometheus felt,

heat heavy in his hands, and twice as holy.

I breathe in and hydrogen sears the insides of my nose,

just real enough that I’ll swear I smelled stardust,

knowing not of vultures or the taste of

liver in between laboured breaths.

my mind desperately wants this, too, as a memory,

not knowing if I will ever see the same sky twice. and

Orion nocks an arrow,

points it straight at Polaris, muscles pulling tight with a

quickness. it rips a hole in spacetime, landing

right between Ursa Minor’s eyes. “He’s a

straight shot,” you say, as Sagitta continues

tearing across the night sky,

unveiling cloaked celestial bodies. it’s a battlefield, a

graveyard, the one night where we can pretend we’re

victorious. you don’t see this everyday—

“Wait, yes you do!” You wouldn’t let me forget with

your wide eyes and wider smile, eyes marking an

X where Monoceros welcomes in the new

year, hooves burning supergiant bright towards a

zenith he’ll never reach.