Night sky,
any dark sky,
with pointed
shards,
poking holes
in that fabric,
of the night,
of the unknown,
now bright,
now twinkling,
mischievous,
sharp hooks to
snag dreams,
and tear,
space, space,
                      space
that goes
out there,
and never
comes back,
the same,
but there are
those stars,
ripping holes
for the moon,
then the sun,
then back to
starry
night.


©ClemC 062013