Flying at Night

Ted Kooser

 
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like
his.
 
From Flying at Night: Poems 1965-1985 by Ted Kooser, © 1980. Reprinted by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press.

Poems by This Author

A Happy Birthday by Ted Kooser
This evening, I sat by an
Dishwater by Ted Kooser
Slap of the screen door, flat knock
Porch Swing in September by Ted Kooser
The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun
Untitled [Each time I go outside] by Ted Kooser and Jim Harrison
Each time I go outside


Further Reading

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