She was 20. It was July -he took her to the edge of town
The back of his jeep full of cheap beer, a blanket and a telescope.

He showed her jewels in that infinite blackness
diamonds grouped into Greek legends
Archers, warriors, Gods and Goddesses
- an occasional meteor shower

She was a sucker for his unshaven intellect
And overlooked his absentmindedness
Until he forgot to tell her about his girlfriend
and his moving van.

February, 22 now- and her sky is gray
Nights are mostly cloudy, dotted only with low altitude planes

Even on those rare evenings when stars are visible
She looks up only briefly
no longer connecting the dots

She has excommunicated herself from that mythology

title from The blower's daughter-Damien Rice

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