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.
