issue 24 > poetry > balbo

A swimming pool in darkness cannot hold
the sky’s starlit immensity, but two,
sleepless together, can’t resist the view—
Cicadas surge; no guard’s on watch tonight.
Above them, far from artificial light,
the stars look brighter, infinite, and cold.
The water doesn’t move. Two click the frames
of chairs that let them lie back and look up—
The constellations! Neither knows their names
so they make up a few. But when they stop,
the stars persist, undaunted. Does the sky—
dust-scattered, black—change imperceptibly
above their gaze? They almost think it does
but find each other more mysterious.






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