My Aurora app dings
telling me within the hour
the northern lights may appear
over my house.

But snow is falling.

How often do green and purple waves
shimmer above me
and I don’t know it?

I imagine someone, maybe me,
pistol in hand, deciding to do it
in the back yard, not inside
the house, less mess on the grass,
shutting the side door faintly,
walking out and looking up
one last time—then seeing the sky
tremble with pink and lavender,
watching the waves
open a presence
he had thought long dead,
but it’s here now—
it’s here.