Shouldn’t talk about it,
But a thousand times,
A thousand singing stars from now,
You’ll hear the flip
Of my cards hit the table.


The kingfisher left the crown,
And a lantern in the storm
Scattered arrow shadows,
Pointing violent paths through
The blinding white.


We hope for the shining respect
Of yellow prints in the darkness.
Sharp stars between jungle leaves,
And the whisper of cosmic shifting.


Like the gods rolling over in their galactic sheets,
Sending waves of glittered gasses
And planetary matter,
flying.