Thousand: Seven Hundred Fifty-Seven

It could be your name. Maybe not. Could be a name something like yours. Anne for Dan, say. Or Bruce for Ruth. Could be there’s someone around here with your name. Could be there’s more than one of you. While you’re standing at the gate, hanging onto a post as though the wind were going to blow you away. It’s stopped now, true, but could come back at any moment, could redouble its fury. While you’re looking up at the stars, which you can’t see because the light of the closest brushes away the light of all the rest like