poetry dump — father's day from santa fe

It was just stars, Dad.
We were bundled up like astronauts
in the bed of her pickup,
          swaddled in sleeping bags
          (synthetic and down cocoons)
          staring up at this absolutely dashing
                     swath of sky that spread on forever (and ever),
          or at least it seemed to,
                     by my reckoning.
We were perched up in the mountains
overlooking Santa Fe
                     (this glittering postage stamp of a city
                     trying its best to become the sky but
                     falling miles of fairy lights short)
          We sewed ourselves into the tree line
          and wondered at the beauty of it all,
                     hot chocolate words
                     held in our smiles and breaths.
We were thinking of the day,
heads bowed over pictures,
          as if in prayer.
It was beautiful, Dad.
          Nothing but stars.