Around the campfire, amber coals aglow,

their warmth kisses cool skin,

and all is quiet except for

the sound of the stars coming out.

Only those in tune, sensitive souls

who have loved and lost

can feel the universal shift of

setting sun to glimmering constellations.

A whiff of wood smoke floats upward

to tickle eyes and nose,

while rustling in nearby brush detracts

from the sound of stars coming out.

Nighttime chills crawl up my spine,

pulling my coat tight around

at the thought of nocturnal eyes

watching me as the stars come out.

Gradually Heaven’s Eye opens wide

to reveal dear departed souls,

some bright, some faint,

but all visible as their stars come out.