Einstein, 1905

I woke up in the middle of the night,
and in the way that only the night can
fill you with total and utter conviction,
I saw a city with all its infernal lights

scattered like stars across the black,
heavy sky. They dipped and heaved,
as if following the contours of a valley,
and the sky itself felt like a fabric

draped over a thick and breathing thing.
There were more stars than I could count,
spawning endlessly in patterns
of more confidence than could be

mixed by any artist, and I felt a sudden
loneliness. Sleeping beside me under
this desert sky were my closest friends,
beloved company, and their eyes were

closed, with not even a glimpse of a glow
escaping from underneath their lids.
The air was cold and brittle and the stars
winked out, like individual secrets.

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