Celestial Heavens

The black sky is raining
with meteors. At the age
of twelve we lie upon

the picnic table and point
them out, we name
the heavens, the stars,

the figures from mythology,
the lights that might be planets.
We know enough to think

we know, but there is so
much more. The night
is fathomless, as deep

and mysterious as we think
the love we have for one
another is. We want this to be

now and forever more,
unchanged. But our mothers
will call us in, the air will grow

cold, the wet grass will touch
our feet and we will move on,
and away. We haven't learned

that childhood is not a safe place
for love, nor perhaps is any age.