The Falling Sky

In Switzerland now but thinking much more of home than of here, and not home Brooklyn though I miss our street with its deli peonies and its corner yoga, but home North Carolina. I'm thinking of the summer that Joe and I drove our little brother Dave out to the Outerbanks to camp. Dave was probably 14 at the time, and Joe and I were still smoking (the glory days!), so the windows were down, and the music was loud, and we drove and we drove until we got to that place that feels like the edge of the world. All night, we lay on the sand. There was a meteor shower, and the stars just poured from the sky, so many stars we couldn't even count them, and I remember thinking: this is how it's supposed to be; the sky is falling, and we've got nothing but each other, and this is exactly how it's supposed to be.