There were a thousand stars
reflected in a schist rock bowl
of rain. One of them was mercy
though you claimed you didn’t

know which. You stirred them up
with a walking stick and blurred
your own face, insisting you would
recognize grace but that was so

long ago that all we remember
now is your spaniel nudging
the heavens with her nose
to clear a space to drink. I think

there are still a thousand stars
in that canyon fissure full of rain,
reflected in my cauldron of clear-eyed
skeptic’s brew. I hope one of them

remembers where I parked, can
reveal the score to our last comic
duet and, like you, will drift to the top  
of this undeniable citadel of ghosts.

Selected byRaymond Hufffman
Image credit:momental

Sara Clancy is a Philadelphia transplant to the Southwest.  Her chapbook Ghost Logic won the 2017 Turtle Island Quarterly Editors Choice Award. Among other places, her poems have appeared in Off the Coast, The Linnet's Wings, Crab Creek Review, The Madison Review, Misfit Magazine, Avatar Review and Verse Wisconsin. She lives in the desert with her husband, their dog, two ordinary cats and a psychotic cross-eyed one.