From out the window, a little boy gazed,
curious over what stars might say
if they ever came whispering wisdom to him,
but as his mother said,
"If the stars don't come down to speak to you,
build yourself a rocket ship
and fly to the moon."
From out the door a young man stared
at the wrist flicker sending a waterfall of hair
cascading to the shoulders of the girl he loved,
as she stood on his porch, hands on hips,
eyebrows raised, twitching lips.
He simply stood and lingered there,
until with an angered glare
she stormed off without saying goodbye,
he remained and watched and wondered why
above him the stars cried.
From out the porthole of a sky ship, an old man looked
as he passed by bubbly brooks.
Light and fire, colliding through the night,
as the spacemen in the shuttle floated to his right,
holding his hand, as if they could understand.
"It's okay, we're almost there, not long until upon the moon we'll land."
But no one could grasp the fact why
someone who traded his love for the skies
looked down from the dream he'd chased his entire life,
and saw the face of a girl
burning through the night.