I found Charlotte in the cold grass
eight legs bent against the sky
the song of just one summer
spun to silence in the dark
and I cannot comprehend it
to live so short a season
yet the earth still spins beneath me
keeping count of all of mine
we are both so fragile out here
under stars no longer burning
their own light merely echo
sounding in a stream of time
no lens we build can capture
even seen from the beginning
where we are and what contains it
how expansion became life
so different in our vision
we hang in this together
held weightless for an instant
in these strands of dying light

Erin Wescott is a former archaeologist, librarian, and writer. Born and raised in Wisconsin, she’s had the opportunity to live and work all over the state. She has occasionally strayed further afield, living in several other states and countries, but the Great Lakes always call her home.