A creaking fan disturbs
The silent warmth of the night,
Sleep has left him, so he sits owl-like,
Gazing through the window at the sky.
A few years ago, he could identify
Venus, Mercury and constellations
He had read about in the books now sprawled on his bed.
Now as the clock inches toward two past midnight,
He rubs his eyes, sips from his coffee mug again,
And looks for a star he can give his name.
Trouble is, the room has no windows,
The lights are out,
And in the black of the room,
He can see shapes he calls stars.