For many years now, the only thing she  
saw at night was the beige reflection 
cut into six rectangles.  
 
Outside the house, nothing for miles.  
There was only stark depth beyond the glass.  
It was the cold beyond and was always a comfort.  
 
Like many winters before,  
before the night fully sets in,  
the wash of blue.  
 
Becoming darker and darker before falling out, 
she could never feel too cold or be truly moved by it.  
Even after sunset on this time in her life,  
she still found her in the night, on a snowbank.  
Still looking at the sky that is either specked with stars or overcast.  
Never feeing so small or large in that web. 
 
As she walks down the stone hill, 
she wishes she could fly,  
on the wings of the Butterfly Nebula. 
 
There is a nebula in the sky 
that you can see from down here. 
She looks up as she walks. 
 
Can you really see it from 
here in this haze?  
Would it even matter?