Shooting stars cross the city’s night sky.
In the moment before they fall, think about dwellings,
houses made of brick, stone, and wood—dwelling and indwelling
miracle keeping matter together, from imploding or inverting.
How dwellings become a city, interdependent.
How stars become a night sky, suspended.
(Late Fall, nearly winter, fog-caul warms night air through inversion.
The meteor version of life heads straight to the matter of our bed.)
What holds up the sky holds each one of us, too—
as we move against one another in this taut, elastic field,
warming with each movement, causing little inversions
all around us, and shooting stars—
—by Scott Edward Anderson, from Dwelling: An Ecopoem
Used by permission of the poet. Shanti Arts LLC , 2018