Radio

my radio is quiet.

nostalgia

on the scratchy grassdigging past the thick layers of her windbreaker,arms spread, eyes disbelieving,dark sky filled with pinpricks of light – were the stars taped on? – glimmering and shining and dreaming,to see constellations tell the mighty storiesof the fallen,to see the galaxy in which they belonged topast the smoke of the city,cloudy fear and