8
Comet Leonard
My news feed scroll says southwest,
at twilight, Comet Leonard will be
low on the horizon.
Last human to see, ever
I stand in the crisp clear cold air,
neighborhood rooftops,
power lines, streetlights,
swamp maple, massive fir,
all tangled together,
disappearing the horizon.
Going higher each night,
searching a clearer vista
news of final farewell.
Climbing higher, open, exposed cold
hopes look southwest …
suddenly the sunset blossoms
a Hudson Valley painting,
clouds brilliant in soft pinks
and acid yellow on darkening sky,
a rose in the briar.