Fireball

Name the physics of such a trajectory, of stone leaving     the sling, of meteorite grazing the atmosphere

after midnight, green flashing ball with twist of tail     skimming the Pilbara sky. A stone from the river,

or from interstellar space, a chosen rock taken up and flung     with a finesse beyond. The astounded Australian

night owls gape at the green sparking spectacle. The rock     strikes the millimeter of the giant's forehead, dead

accurate. We will never find them, these fireballs, once     all that superheated air vaporizes and only the pebble

is left. We will never find the iron rock among iron rocks     in the Pilbara outback, in the Vale of the Terebinth.

And yet the story. The pyrotechnic glow of your perfect     path. How the slightest may be the shooting star. How

you propel us with aim and timing. We squint to observe     the miracle: the flick of your wrist, the shining stone.