🪽— flying at night
Angelina J. 1939

above us, stars. beneath us, constellations. five billion miles away, a galaxy dies like a snowflake falling on water. below us, some farmer, feeling the chill of that dinstant death, snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn back into the little system of his care.

🐚 all night, the cities, like shimmering novas, tug with bright streets at lonely lights like him.