I journeyed far above the sky

Where I met a man on the moon.

He gave me star that guided me through dark space.

I found my trajectory.

Until alas, my palms began to radiate and inflame.

From tender warmth to tender pain

I looked down at the red heat, opened my grasp and let the star float away.

The dust glittered as it drifted on.

And there it was

I began to feel and see the electricity spiral inwards.

The pulverulent clouds of dust will allow new bodies to form.

A wish to be granted in time.

While other eyes graze the very same stardust that will someday collide.

-AKS

A cricket watched from the windowsill,
quiet, still, as the scientist adjusted the telescope again and again.
Looking through the lens,
there was a mess of a star
One that seemed fuzzy and incoherent.
The scientist sighed,
“I can’t tell where it ends!”
And after hours of trying, he stepped away.

He gave up looking.
When the formula was there all along.
The answer was ratio.
The answer was patience.
The answer was focus.
He left before learning that proximity doesn’t mean blur.
It meant resolution is possible with the right
lens.

But he never paused long enough
for the air to still,
for the optics to align,
for the sky to stop shimmering.
He just saw confusion
where clarity was only one calculation away.

When the room fell silent,
the cricket crept onto the scientist’s desk.
Small as a semicolon but bold as truth.
It chirped once
and left behind a slip of paper.
On it, the formula.
A quiet reminder that closeness is not confusion.
It is just a matter of resolution.




Dawes’ Limit.
R = 4.56 / D
Defining the smallest details visible under ideal conditions.
The closest two stars can clearly be seen together In the night sky.

The art therapist asked as if it were a breeze,
“Why don’t you sculpt ‘a mother’, please?”
I nodded, polite, but my eyebrows twitched
A grin tugged my young lips - while the plan suddenly switched.
No apron. No carriage. No dress stitched in blue.
I began to sculpt fins for a glimmering hue.
I rolled out a belly, bold and round,
And I shaped her with pride from the hips on down.
“There”, I said: “A pregnant mermaid with long brown hair…”
Not the mother she asked for, but I didn’t care.
I giggled inside as I built her a tail,
A preposterous idea, a mythical fail.
But when I was done, I stopped and stared.  
Because the mermaid was whimsical, strange, strong, and fiercely rare.
Not merely off base - just hard to define.
The myth I made up - turns out it was mine.

So yes, I defied and maybe I teased
But while sculpting the fins, I began to feel pleased.

She wasn’t wrong, or wild, or something to fix.
She just shimmered with questions and clever tricks.
And maybe, just maybe, that mermaid was just me.
Or the woman I’ll  carve space for… to someday be seen.

I met you in Jerusalem
Where every limestone was worn smooth with time
And ever corner hummed and whispered
From the sacred and sublime

I asked for directions, just passing through,
Your smile felt like something new.

We wandered streets as daylight waned,
Past alleys where the past remained.
In a playful tone, you turned to say,
“If I were just a gardener, I’d pick you a flower every day.”

I laughed aloud but your words stayed near
Simple, tender, and strangely clear.
The words softened the cities’ ancient weight,
And for a moment bent the hand of fate.

We parted as travelers often do,
With no promises, just a fleeting truth.
But I wonder now, across the seas,
If you think of California’s mountain breeze.

Would you have planted orange flowers
On hills that glow in the summer’s haze?
Would you be a gardener?
Your name meaning golden, fruitful place?

Instead, I smile to know that instead you code,
Building worlds with logic’s mode.
Still In the quiet corners of my mind,
I plant your words through seeds of time.

When the famished sun,
Once vivid, lush with hue,
Swallowed shades that it once knew
The cyan skies dissolved to gray
The emerald leaves curled and frayed.

The rainbows who once arched so long
Became a smudge, dark brown mélange.

For days the sun feasted in muted shade,
Till time unraveled, slow, delayed.

Waiting beneath the blankened sky,
Laid buried seeds, their roots entwined,
A quiet earth with loam inside.

The seeds whispered winds for rain to fall,
Dancing tropic movements to heed a call.

They bloomed to jasmine and crowned the night
A nectar sweet, a bright delight
With petals soft and fragrance shared,
A white fluorescence lit the air.

Your thumbtack
This concept
This artwork
shakes paper
It’s absolutely beautiful
It’s sensational
It made me feel things I cannot describe
Can I keep it?
I’d like to hold onto it for a very long time

As I daydream about getting down to brass
My eyes gaze at the bare wall
I begin imagining that I am a thumbtack
Your thumbtack
Yes, I did just objectify myself, didn’t I?
But I have these feelings now
Whereas I didn’t before
Because you did not resist the other purposes I felt I had at the time
Leading up to this moment
You never tried to make me dull
And even now, I do not feel feeble
I feel sharper than ever
Sharp enough to be pushed into a wall
Pushed as hard as you’d like
Just to hold this concept tightly
In the same fashion that your arm is placed around my back
And in the way my ******* feel beneath your chest

Like water and oil do we swirl
As my eyes close
Your eyes open
And again we dance fluidly
Nearing
And changing course
The sun sets and you think of me
The sun rises and I think of you
But neither dare to shake the bottle once more

A counterpoint duet
Looping and dipping
Dripping and flipping
Tossing and turning

Finally
An emulsifier

I’ll never forget the time we stirred
It was the moment we both said
“Stop”
At the very same time

But in the end it was all just an intellectual exercise
We could never truly bond.