by Brad Jarvis

The river of stars embedded in cold black beyond the window of air shouts both the fullness and emptiness of our neighborhood, while here on the ground there is a deep silence that suggests a disquieting absence of life.

A short distance away, inside the window where the air is thickest, one kind of life thrives in places built with the homes of others and the stuff of this tiny world that sustains them, projecting light and sound that disrupts the rhythm of survival.

Time for reflection is fleeting as a truck roars by, invading this sacred space to remind its denizens of those beyond and their impending dominance of all such spaces, shattering the quiet and the dark that enables perception of meaning.

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