Rocks and dust, despondent, missing
their star systems of origin,
toss themselves into our air
and burn away.
Blame the skies
for those reminders of loss
known as shooting stars.
Think about how you await them,
what you wish for as they pass;
then think about all on earth
who do the same and are reviled
or forgotten once they’ve passed:
only now and then are they noticed
by anyone, and few can say
if the only wishes they bear are their own,
or if they ever come true.