Adam Jackson, "Tall Grass at Night"
I’m too close to the ground to see where this all landed, but still I’m pushing through sharp tall grass, sniffing the air for a trace of burnt metal in the dark. Was it a bottle rocket or a meteorite? Smoke rises dark against dark, then an even deeper dark, a hole arms-width into which my shadow drops. I flatten, belly down on bent sedge, and pull towards the edge: look in, look down, where a disc the size of the moon shines back, black as obsidian, reflecting stars.