Mount Lemmon, Arizona, 1986
Sparks from Halley’s Comet
in the black hole of a predawn sky
revive the chars of memory
when I was happy atop a mountain
in the desert, when you and I
were young and together
believed the world lay before us.
The caretaker with more wine
than he alone could drink
ushered us into the globe rooms
that perched on the mountain
like tethered moons,
showed us that streaming light
from far away so close
my fingers tingled with imagined
touch. We knew then
the importance of light, knew
this was our one lifetime’s chance,
as we followed faint yellow strips
back down switchbacks
through spruce to saguaro,
from snow to sand,
we knew what mattered.
But what we didn’t know,
even as we watched
the comet’s ephemeral light,
tail always chasing after,
was how to hold on.
