Performed by Blake Friedman, Tenor and Ellie Kirk, Harp

Text by W. S. Di Piero

Let’s assume the stars
dropped. undiminished
in our sight, then cooled,
beading on the new snow.
From our train we see
the sulfur pips of houses
at enormous distances,
the land extending
like a thought that’s fine
only when it dares
it’s own expanse. Headlights
carve that emptiness.

Back home, the lights go up,
not away (stacked floor
by floor, ledge by ledge,
the living sites, tools,
duties, songs tried, tiered,
decked and balanced)
waiting for the new year
to exalt or dim them.