Star
In a canoe at night
my grown-up daughter
takes the stern
her J-stroke confident.
In the middle
we rest our paddles.
The quiet fills with crickets
and the small lapping of waves.
We crane at the stars till
our necks won’t let us.
She sighs.
I hear smiling
in her breath.
I want to say something
about the stars, lovely
and too close for June.
I point to a corner of sky.
A shooting star
skims a shower down
and we gasp together.
We drift.
The canoe rotates
back to the house.
Over our shoulders
we feel the shimmery
fall of a dying star.
*This is a rewrite of a poem I posted a few posts back, July 2018.
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