Star

At the end of the day, at evening’s close,
the streetlight in front of our building
washes us out of the look of the star
that’s meant to be guarding our home.
as we hear the click of the garden gate’s lock
behind us, let’s imagine it’s back:
what we sometimes thought we’d lost forever
but now, within sight, found.
That wobble of shine in the puddle
stretched to our toes, settling and shaping itself into
what it was before the traffic of feet
disturbed it—let’s say it’s the star’s reflection,
not having given us up as lost, as we,
in the depths of our troubles and sorrow,
sometimes believed.
Hold my hand, love, jump across.