The child counted stars
through the fence.
One for his mother.
One for the dog left behind.
One for the orange tree
that leaned over the courtyard wall.
The desert cooled.
Crickets began their evening work.
On the other side of the wire,
a patrol truck drifted slowly past,
its headlights sweeping the sand.
The moon rose anyway.
By midnight he had named
more stars than he could remember.
The sky kept offering them.
No one could stop that.
Grey Sparrow Journal 