At night, When nothing could save me from my head, I opened my eyes to see the night sky Eery green glow on world weary white Why do they always have pentagram points Enlarged or minuscule, like prism cutouts Windows to the world above?
If you concentrate, You can plot the lines between them Like the Greeks and Romans did, Fathers and children of all mankind. This bedroom was a blank canvas for a child's hands To find and mark different constellations Her own legends Her own mythos Monsters and fairies, princes and kings.
When she looks up at the ceiling, She can see our myths Etched in the spaces between the pools of light Intangible to most, perhaps, Felt across a breach The dark span of country roads and motorways Train tracks tracing patterns on skin And sometimes on the darkest nights I can see nothing but stars And can't make out the shape of your face This isn't a simple science.
Love, Sometimes my light does not seem to bridge the gap Sometimes yours seems faint, too, But we both burn holes in the cracked plaster Some days, this is the easiest thing in the world On others, we might as well be light years apart.
That little girl still looks though Spread eagled on a ballerina duvet, she still smiles Watching the lights shift Playing dot-to-dot with fate Until she gently falls asleep Dreaming of castles she has yet to see And princes she has yet to meet.
A poem about long-distance and glow in the dark sticker stars.