I still look up to the night sky above
and wonder
where my place is
underneath it all,
undone, yet still breathing
asleep, yet dreaming—
is it fate
or just a becoming?
There’s a soft wind in the air,
passing through me,
brushing me away—
a song never meant to be.
I’m the sheath left open,
the clay still molding—
see through my eyes,
they carry what’s unfinished
glowing inside
with these halting heartbeats.