NORMAN DUBIE

The Meteor Shower

Here, above the cold burial ground
an acute angle of fire
in windowpane, jars
of water and the wheel of orange
and green feathers. A phalange
of rising sun abdicates
to a heavily moving monsoon.

Young Joseph killed himself
two weeks past while seated
in the old burnt-out Cadillac
on his mother’s reservation.

And the stars are still falling
into his open mouth. Is this
just luck—     the sky
still showing tolerance for the planet
but not us.