only two gone-in-a-flash streaks.
Not exactly a shower,
not even really a sprinkle.
Standing hopeful in my yellow nightie,
in the dark,
in my yard—
that same yard where I envision invader robbers crouching in the shadows.
In the dark,
confusing my collie, who had followed me out to pee—him, not me.
Staring skyward, it’s so hard on the neck,
but I was determined,
4 a.m. to 5 a.m. determined.
Was it Pacific Standard Time? Or Central?
Where is the light show, the Pleiades’ panorama of shooting lights?
For all my whining and neck stretching,
I saw two.
But the slivered moon, Venus pulsating attention, and Orion’s belt
kept me company as I waited . . . and waited,
their crisp lights shining in my yard,
uncovering every hiding place a wild coyote or nocturnal snake could possibly hide,
streaming light, making sure all the neighbors with second-story windows could tell,
could tell I was on watch in the dark,
in my yard,
in my yellow nightie—
on the watch for two.