There's a star I know
You'll never see
A blue star I carry with me
Heavy for my hands to hold
Too heavy to drop
I want to cut the clouds of wings
And this permitted archery
Fermenting summer augury
Late september thoughts
Flying through confetti skies
The wings are made of knives
Ripping and shredding at horizons
Until the mosaic has lost all meaning
There's a star I know
And a purple night
Becoming empty without it