Poems 0141丨Flying at Night丨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.
"Flying At Night Poems 1965-1985 by Ted Kooser"
Publishied by the University of Pittsburgh Press 1985