Satellite shopping carts
bow low before the evening star
inexplicably appearing
over the horizon of the parking lot
with its krieg light towers and
barricaded landscape;
the sunset still appears,
the star of the show doing its turn —
low line of scarlet and orange,
fire and purple, painted
against the underglaze
of void and black exquisite
late fall sky, falling rapidly
into night. Low level roof mirrors
last minute clouds obscure
the silhouette frame proof
that what is above,
what is below.
The big star does puff and blow.
Nothing is above as below.

There, appearing above the marquee,
the early night sky
impossibly soon, half a page
ripped from a book
to reveal what is next,
and now the evening star
glints trapped within metal
cage shopping carts whose
mesh captures last rays
of starlight as last rays
of sunshine render them
ransom and the first time
of night arrives a child
impossibly wise for its age.