at the cliff, he watches
lives charted so specifically
cars traceable, scattered on roads
surrounded by walls looming
the buildings bearing down like a maze.
was all that he ever knew so small?
were the city lights always earth’s constellations?
were his thoughts always in poems?
to ground himself
he tries to reel in the moment:
look! from the cliffside
heaven has fallen for earth.
who guards the night sky?
he feels like dust in the wind.
the wind blows, but he struggles
and holds on tighter.