Stars Born on Earth

I spy a line of lights

as bright as stadium spots—

another low horizon

beckons from the mountainside.

* * *

Winter draws them early

but in summer, they are mute—

I watch them, marking time

since the bloom of brilliance.

* * *

Each night I see them pop

like moths diving through the fire—

reckless little suicides.

Noticed, but unsung.