We are all stars,
and I saw each one of us
in the milky brew
over the bridge that crossed
two small streams
and a swath of tall grasses
at the Girl Scout camp that,
truth be told, was not
far enough from the lights
and the sprawl of us
to be much darker
than in the city.

Still, there we all were,
in Orion’s belt, say,
or the Big Dipper,
faint though it was.

I saw you and me, all
our loved ones and strangers—
both living and dead—
but most of all, my daughter,
beside me on the bridge,
tangible in flesh (and coat
and boots), turning
her moon face skyward,
saying, “Wow,” as

the other scouts ran on,
laughing and screaming,
poking holes in the night’s
silence, caught up in some
great vision other than this.