Kingdom in Kingdom

The air is mild, the sky finally black

       enough for glitter.

A hesitant streetlamp comes on just

       as I step

into its orange jurisdiction out from

       under a tree,

a sudden glow then I’m past; the now

       orange pavement

textured in living shadows—prehistoric

       millipedes,

new-hatched, stretch from the pebbly

      fence-edge

and ruler-mark the sidewalk into

      segments

in their image, the extending striated shell.

We are the ancient ones and young.

We are at the beginning of time now, our

        constellation

winks at the gazer of a million years

        beyond:

I am the ancestor of your history.

From the edge through the unlit distance

of dust and gravel hills, drying shrub and

       thorn

unseeded into air, the eye travels

to the only far structure, wreathed in a

      string of bulbs

for the festival—near the top, a pattern

of regular segments lit as 6 and 6

and a star, steady, pointing in six

        directions.

It only marks a year. It’s formed for others.

Such a small number. Such a bright star.

                                     —Courtney Druz