It’s a new ritual
before bed
we stand on the top floor of our house
turn off the lights
and watch the planes fly overhead
like shooting stars.
Every time he sees one
he buries his face in my neck
and squeals with delight.
It’s so reasonable
this awe
hunks of steel
suspended
careening through the night.
It’s my indifference that is mad
making so many things
mundane.