He says that it’s been 500 years since it’s happened,
and that the best time to see it is at midnight.

He draws a circle with his finger in the air, the size of an apple,
and says, “It’ll be shiny and red if you look at it through a scope.”

A girl who bolted and left without paying, peers through the window,
motioning to us. She’s left her keys behind.

Walter picks them up, spins the ring around his finger.
“Come and get ‘em,” he mouths to the girl.

Later, at midnight, I sit on the bench out front of the station.
I don’t see anything in the sky over Tuscaloosa.

It’s just dark up there. Just inky.
Walter caught his bus. And I’ve got the keys.