blurring his vision
clouding his lens
an overcast, a veil
a smudge on his screen
a smear on the glass

I was a gleam
until the glint turned to rust
the sun streaks black oil
the stars covered in tar
the moon drizzled dust

the light blinds us
till we’re two silhouettes
hanging on a string
tangled on the line
those shooting stars
are porcupines