by Jessica Bolluyt

This twilight of fragile stars and sibilant darkness

is where I find your hand to hold. I follow the creaking of your boots down the pale miles of sidewalk,

on toward the far terrain of black horizon and bitter November river. We see the sky inked darkly as the yellow city diminishes behind, so as to be of no

account. On the hill outside, brightly above us the array of stars congregate, the same way our thoughts enjamb eachother, thoughts

of the encyclopedic diorama. You concentrate to place the movie camera in its very center, and smile when frames advance and the shutter opens on

my favourite constellations. Tiny film plots the spinning stars and spiraling leaves, the tilting of the earth. I fall, and you alone are standing. Your

loving shoulders lift and bear my little weight, and the night wind whispers downward. The passage home - and the cold makes me cling to

you - the night will shut, impossible to remember and impossible to forget. Carry me softly in your heart, surveying starscapes, mapping skies, and

forever I will be that child I have wanted to be, in your arms; the wish a small memorial to a life we never shared