You swooped in to take a close-up
the first time in more than sixty years
by my count, no time at all.
Maybe you couldn’t believe
the wind whispering in your soft ear
had to see with your own two eyes
what the ruckus was all about
golden parachuted down to eartha super moon curious to see
if she could recognize anyone
from the old neighborhood.
Slivers of cut-glass shadows everywhere.
We never belonged to this place.
And if a silver mirror could speak,
great pain until burnished.