As he looks up in the sky
he sighs and wonders
he gapes and almost staggers lost
He sees one surviving star shinning brighter than the wandering lot
casting his thoughts like fish net
he makes a wish to his loved ones maybe they laughed
at the old terrible joke of the palm squeezing greeting
Or cried about another broken ***
The kids must really be my blood
And maybe she laughed the same
terrible laugh
Or grimaced in similar ancient grief
Lined across her fore head the day l last saw her
