She loves to spend her time

Far off from the light

Where she can clearly see

To pick stars from the sky

Puts them in her basket

Where she takes them home

Pastes them on her ceiling

Making constellations of her own

It doesn't matter
who you are
I hope that you
will never
have to know
the crippling pain
of someone you love
looking at you
like you
are a stranger

on days when the sky is cold, crisp, blue
a tangible reflection, almost solid-
i wish i could take a bite out of it
i'd jump using the last, innocuous, dying breath of summer to propel me and then
sink my teeth into
the frozen blueberry atmosphere
it could travel through every part of me
making me feel safe, clean, comfortable
not quite warm and not at all cold
how the trees must feel now
afterward i'd want to slowly descend like their leaves
cradled by amber air
until eventually landing softly
into an inky night