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In Terms of the Night Sky
John Grey

The stars, where they poke through, are strictly second-rate.
And the few dozen clouds can barely support themselves.
Hence the drizzle.

I’m reduced to rereading a cache of old love letters,
some I wrote, some written to me.
They came together when the people did.
Then, when one left, they stayed.
I don’t read their soft mush for my own benefit.
I do it for the stars.

For there’s so much space up there
and why fill it with sporadic sprinkles and glitter.
If I can get a feeling for what was,
maybe the sky will too.

Did I really say that?
Did she really think that of me?
How could I have been so open?
That tone is warmer than I remember.
And the feelings…
they dug deep
and found nothing but reciprocity.

The rain doesn’t amount to much.
The clouds drift away.
The constellations are all back together.
How beautiful.
The weather forecast was right after all.
The letters were right for their time.

—
John Grey is an Australian poet, U.S. resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, and Hollins Critic. His latest books are Leaves on Pages and Memory Outside the Head. Work upcoming in Lana Turner and International Poetry Review.

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Have you read these poems:
Land of the Lost by Stephen Benz
What We Need to Know by Jeffrey Hantover

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