a matter of stars
It is a waltz, feet un-designed yet ruled
by a pattern as music covets control,
discharges freedom within the structure;
there are flimsy walls, trembling floors
and other tumblers also dancing.
In the dark, we feel the chains,
discern the cage; alcohol-infused tongues
lick the fur, hands sharpen blunt claws,
we pretend to be human,
rather than bears dancing to a tune
we never composed.
In the morning, we brush away the blood,
gargle words of advice to any and all
who will listen, hide our screams
behind train rides to and from the city.
We coalesce into large collections
of solitary beings, sunspots for eyes
and minds that can never remember
when we were brilliant stars.
Bereft of the god’s face, our psyche yearns,
strives to listen to the atoms within, conscious
that one day the smallest parts will journey
to places thoughts can only imagine.
I see my father in the tail of a comet.
I remember my friend in the sunset, a sky pink
and promising all is well.
I dance in the construct called time,
to protect the mind from the vast
that cannot be grasped.
All we have we must lose,
all but the particles first bequeathed
when the sun exploded with a howl
no one heard
Is that it,
are we the ears made to listen?
