Counting Stars

The lamppost stirs awake, iron that breathes light.
The night extends its left hand, slow and cold.
And he fixes the darkness with metallic eyes.
He learns to count the stars, one, two, three.
Each number sparks a glimmer in the void.
The night’s left hand guides the counting.
When the final light gives way to dawn, breath grows still.
The count becomes a listening, peace between the steps.
And the sky stays close, silent and friend.