the last thing

Here's the last thing
that went through me:
it wasn't a thought

It had no time for that,
curling over the horizon
with a smoke trail left behind.

A white-hot angry light:
the last shard of sharp rock
left of what was a shooting star

it could have even been the one we'd
wished upon

aw baby we were just
such a one-in-billions stroke of luck!

when you think about it that way,
if I had time to think, I couldn't have
even called it unfair.

you could see this thing move,
if it wasn't headed straight for you
- to me, it looked like hovering

To those below, it was a scream
a streak, a bolt

the only question left was:
will it burn up?
or strike?

or explode

it just might

just a tiny shard of rock
can be death, from that height