I speak in starlight,
threads of maybe tangled in my throat
Fate flickers like static
a signal I follow
with closed eyes

Each voice feels written,
then unwritten

I hold out my hands
as if the sky might answer,
as if someone might stay
long enough
to read the same stars

I sorrow for your sorrow—
my hands cannot reach you,
my words cannot fix it.
I cannot shield you,
or chase the dark away.

I sorrow for your sorrow.
I break when you break—
but I am not beside you.
I can’t rescue the day.
I can’t say I’m sorry
in a language you’d understand.

Still—
I sorrow for your sorrow.
And in the stillness of my world,
I make space for your grief.

In my heart,
in my spirit,
I hang a lantern.
I shine what light I can
from across the miles—
and I sorrow with you,
until the sorrow can end.

Altruism
has
become
an old
film reel,
where grief
looked noble
and death
had meaning.
Now people
water
relationships
for their
own springs.