Shootin' Down Stars

When I finally saw how the night really
feels about all this, I was on a dock in
Port Townsend in August. The black
part of the sky surrounding all the bright
white pinholes was no longer flat, all of
a sudden, and I was tall, and I could see
the curve of the earth every way I turned.
Over Deception Pass, I was shootin' down
stars, just like that, bang, zoom, and I
finally saw how the huge continent on
one side of us really feels about all this,
and how the ocean on the other side
wishes she could finally be at peace. All
I could think was, "Look at this planet.
Can't you feel the breeze in the wake of
the comets? Can't you see them sailing
forever? Can't you see back to the
beginning if you look deep enough?"
Look at this tiny ball of dirt and water
spinning in the middle of an endless
explosion. It's all just crust; all we know is
crust, the superficial layer, from here.
But I can see it curve when I stand on
Deception Pass. I can see the globe curve,
and shoot down stars, and really catch all this
happening at once, for miles, for miles, for
miles. I see right through the pinholes
in the blackness after the sun sets. I think,
"God, I love the stars almost as much as I
love trains. They all go on forever, the rails,
the Pass, the tide, the ways we all knew each
other once." They go on forever, and they go
despite the skin-deep nature of living in skins
on crusts. At least a person can shoot down
stars, if a person wants to, at certain times of year,
take aim and watch them fall, feel what it is
to be all powerful and all knowing and guide
the motion of the planets. Once a person finally
figures out how they really feel about all this.