by Eric Beeny
It was beautiful, their small bodies falling across the hills, glowing embers like dead stars shooting off constellations broken like pearl necklaces made of Christmas lights.
We’d just gone to bed and I heard something like pieces of lint hitting the roof.
I went out onto the porch, scooped up a handful, none of them were moving.
I let them fall through my fingers, sifting like sand.
I got out my magnifying glass, held it up to a flashlight with dead batteries.
I went back into the house and woke you up.
I opened the curtains and you looked out the window, smiling big.
We ran outside in our pajamas and lay down in the glowing field, more of them falling, covering us.
We made snow angels, like in wet cement, laughing, sinking slowly, our whole bodies waving goodbye.