Fresh, mowed grass under my back
The sky is so empty
Its cerulean blue unmarked
By advertisements
By talking heads
By information
There is a single plane overhead
Leaving behind two parallel trails, like skis.
For a while I find nothing to focus on
And I keep drowning without moving.
A point of light appears
It could be a planet, or an early star,
Or a satellite.
I watch it.
(The grass feels soft and warm on my skin)
It moves.
It looks like a glow worm
Crawling through a maze
With walls I cannot see,
Trying to make its way home.
Godspeed, brave glowworm:
The sky may be a dark and dangerous maze,
But you will light the way,
And the rest of us will follow.
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