(context - written during Creative Writing class when we were doing palimpsest poems. This is my “overwriting” of 'More Lies' by Karin Gottshall.)

Sometimes I say I’m going to go stargazing at the park -
even though my myopic eyes can barely see the streetlight 
clearly. I’ve always thought it a beautiful activity, ever since

that movie showed two teenagers lying side by side,
staring at the sky. Today, for example, I lay 
down on the sharp grass and my glasses had little

drops of water when I put it aside. I half expected
someone to ask me to point out Orion and
other things. The humidity of March takes a 

toll on my stargazing dreams. I carried a mat
and a flask of tea but didn’t lie on nor 
drink it. I liked the way it felt and was,

just me and the stars that I couldn’t see and 
the humidity. I felt someone walk to me,
leave their mat aside too. I could hear the crunching

of grass and see a pair of glasses lying
next to me. All over the city are myopic stargazers
who see the things they want to see while looking at the blurred lights.