Where the Stars Fall Together

They make a pool of silver, swim as stones through the pine branches, push back needles like a dog’s fur shaking off the bathwater and carry what is left of the sky as bones hitched together into a stream. It never tires. The stars so still are never really still. And what pieces you can hold—thread, whiskey, chigger bites, sin—you lose like the loosest water round and round your fingers, like her hair you cannot touch now, like the last bits of light you mapped on the bed until worn blind-through, sleepless, breath-rattled, loping through the dark alone.

 

Photo credit: Chris McCaw, Sunburned GSP#202(SF Bay/expanding), 2008. 16″x20″ unique gelatin silver paper negative

2 Responses to “Where the Stars Fall Together”

1. Saffron says:

   January 10, 2015 at 5:09 am

   wonderful. lyrical and potent. i loved it.

   Reply
2. Jon Magidsohn says:

   October 13, 2014 at 12:01 pm

   Very nice. One of the richest 100 word stories ever.

   Reply