Beaming into the backyard like the big old spotlight
you are, missing for almost a fortnight, though,
of course, it wasn’t your fault, you constant star.

But like cats who get themselves shut into
someone’s shed for days, we’ve been searching
for you, walked the streets calling for you,

worried over your absence, and now, quietly,
while we weren’t looking, the sky has shifted,
the fog has lifted—at least for this moment—

and here you are, quietly brightening up the place,
casting casual shadows in the last hour or so
of this day’s wintery light, as if to say,

What? I’ve been here all this time. But thanks.
It’s nice to be missed.