Halley’s Comet

Phyllis Kiernan, 1997

Still night the morning we saw a comet solitary to our
universe or at least this thin space. Black horizon. A
question of hyperbola meant to call out shadows. Listen to a
March lake wind. The middle is a deep waking. This is a
landscape introverted by comparison to street lights, a town
of pear blossoms. Someone else is lakeside and behind us
wherever we turn. A lightless dimension to our watch,
tensed for a shimmer. Somewhere pines. As if we came
here by invitation and not design, and Halley’s comet a side
attraction all along. What if there is someone else who
knows how the entire night recanted and changed.