It must
have been
familiar
once.

First one star,
then a cluster.
It takes too long.

At once,
it is everywhere.

At once,
it is full
of holes.

It requires
passivity,
stillness
opposed
to my reflex.

I fidget.
Light a candle.

Wonder
what’s left
to happen.

To wait.
I look
away.
What was it?

All is still.
I see nothing.

It begs me
to watch.
To wait.
To look
harder.

Leanne Hoppe (she/her) holds an MFA in poetry from Boston University and works as a teacher, editor, and translator in Vermont and Boston. Her work has appeared most recently in Cold Lake Anthology, High Shelf Press, Poetry Online, This is Not Where I Belong, 236, and Peatsmoke.