I lay on a silver bitumen rooftop near midnight,
face to the stars, and closed my eyes–
a leaf floating on the tensile skin of a lake.
I weighed nothing, was nothing less
than one of the planets,
whose orbits roll, marbles on time’s silk sheet,
toward the center.
Until a train roared by on rails,
from there to here and on, and on.
Its wheels sputtered false lightning.