If the stars didn’t move would they matter to me?
My eye is drawn to action, to journeys, and stories,
To the leap, and bound, and slipping back down and then rising up through.
I scan the night sky to view the moment when darkness is filled with light,
When the swing of Ursa Minor fills the emptiness of stars too far away to see.
Even If, from my rooftop, the movement seems infinitesimal when measured in the span of each breath and heartbeat,
I know somewhere each point hurtles by in a stream of fire a million times faster than my thoughts or eyes
And I just cannot get close enough to see it
But each time I blink new darkness turns to light and each passing breeze that stirs my mind away misses the transformation back.
How can I ever make up each instant I let pass?
My eyes can only stay open for so long.
I’ll slow the time down with smoke and the mirrored reflection of the sky in your eyes,
But then the loss of each second is only more acute.
And my being is razed in each second I cannot raise my eyes.

Yet from this rubble new words can grow,
New thoughts spring to mind,
My feet can continue wandering,
And my eyes continue searching,
Till I begin to wonder is it the movement that captures me or the holes between each ***** of light.
In the space there is the conviction of the dark and the empty room to question.
So wrapped in a blanket and my own curiosity I sit till dawn
Screaming wordless prayers to the cosmic dynamo,
Imprinting nights behind my eyelids,
And mapping constellations in my finger tips,
The muscle memory of arms extending to embrace the outlines of the stars,
Even as they dance away.
So I stare into that void, forever hoping and fearing that whatever stares back will remain silent and allow me to continue searching for one… second… more