A Certain Comfort

Outside at night to write
by lantern light, on a whim.

Should I offer a representation of 
this clean sky framed by
the strong arms
of the backyard oak?

Not tonight — the Perseids
are overhead and every 
half-minute or so a streak
makes words vanish
as I watch.

If the tree
survives the night, I will 
return to it tomorrow.
Although I am not that familiar
with hope or optimism, 

I do take
a certain foolish comfort
in the magical thinking
that there will always be
another poem.