There’s No One in the Sky

There’s No One in the Sky

I see two shooting stars, you see none on the night
we remember to bring a blanket, fuck on Valencia’s

shore, broken shells and salt and sand whooshing
alongside us, pulling the wave’s hips, sticking

together, pushing, then a distance rumbling. Muffled
sighs and silence. The sky reminds me there’s always

one black fissure that won’t fill with stars, if you gaze
hard enough. But there’s nothing empty, just satisfying,

all that penetrating velvet blue-black, it’s quietness
is comforting, the stiff air, a short burst and breeze.

There was haze, each other’s sweat and humid air
clinging, a storm on the horizon, but no lightning,

just shrimp boats blinking red and cream and the forever
lull of the shore’s lighthouse, head whirring around, searching

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