Starlight for my father at fifteen
Still awake at five in the morning
High in his attic, standing by the window.
A flickering dream for my mother,
Fourteen and just about to wake up
A mile or two away. It's a Saturday;
He will go to the synagogue and ask God
Some probing questions. She will go
To a movie and gather evidence
Of how reality can be constructed
From shadows and light and fear and love.