i am having the same old conversations
with the stars up in the sky;
supine, i ask them how much
of their beauty lingers within me
not much, i think.
silently, they stare back, blinking dazedly

i think i might just sleep now,
and let them blanket my dreams:
cold and dead and burning out, alas, like me
but still shining just enough
to soften the blow of nightmares

Perhaps you and I are an eclipse
and our life spans are the time before and after it. As to make sure it only happens once.

And we will glance at one another for a long moment before our fingertips slip through the space between our hands like desert sand.

One last time I will tell you how the stars were always just the light in your eyes, shining through the cracks in my bedroom ceiling and I was merely the darkness inside the room.

If I could stand on my tippy-toes, the way you like it, I would lasso planet HAT-P-7b and place it in your chest between those stars that made you.

But you will vanish from my sight and take my universe with you. And I, spacebound, will travel another 7 years into the next lifetime to find your arms around me in the morning.

Even if our next eclipse lasts only 7 minutes and 31 seconds.

The light came first, it is known
Before the measured warmth of sun.

--
c

I'm not saying I couldn't handle it,
But looking back, I should've
Thought it through
Because I knew what it was
When it came to
Me and you.

I could've offered you the stars
And you'd only want the moon.

Maybe I got too comfortable
Maybe you don't remember things as
I do.

I guess recollections can be romanticized,
Especially when connection can be identified,
When the basis of your argument was built on a simple lie.

I gifted you pieces of me,
And my heart clung onto you for free,
I held on for dear life
No matter the things people said to me.

You had me mesmerized,
Each time I left you with something
You didn't bother to keep memorized.

We used to meet
Every Friday
Now we don't.

She fluttered like the heart ascending o’er that ‘a way,
her swirling flower petals trailing scents throughout the day.

Heaven’s hounds are following, the wolves who chase the moon,
who chased after the birds and eagles, -who clamored to the sun.

The meeting followed once the bull, and the man,
tree and mountain, rivers and ship; found they met as one.

And finally the snake appeared to join in Tlaloc’s face,
All the actions, movements and motions that occur in outer-space.
Each apportioned in a name and symbol, time and order, or function each unto its place...

When the heart did see them afterwards and it fluttered like the early birds, inhaling in the wondrous, feeling something marvelous, and trailing through the skies upon and over time…
…and song or poem, bardic tale, kenning and the rhyme,

And set in stone or scribed on scroll, clay-carved or remembered in the mind. Lost of rhyme or reason and forgotten of their meaning until thought of as sublime. A tragedy or travesty, our lost past and history and that Dragon from the mine; and who he was or who he is and what we’ve lost or what we did.

A sleeper nay, a beast they say, who directs the evil Id...

And the birds shall fly and flowers grow, the ship arrived and animals stowed. The rivers, tree, mountain, bee, the bull and last, the man.
An ordering too and of all things said to be a plan,
…and that Dragon in his awful cave,
when Homer died became the grave,
...for over time did man forget them and thus became a slave.

chorus

…qe te awis petō, beehelōtis krēskō, plowós ghēmi qe kaiwotos karpō,

Te danus, deru, uros, bheiqlā, te ukson qe póstmos te haner,
…qe tagjōvi do-qe-pe olja weqtise seke do esmi e-men,
…qe jod Dherghen en-hen ghouros-te-speqos,
jom e-Homer walóm weiṛtō en-dō bhodsās;
…uperi tempos, ye man ne-mē, qe-en-dō e-dōsos.

Villain villainous vicarious, voracious or a vorate,
a Vulcan hell, a chthonic well, Megaron or substrate,
we find ourselves imagining some patterns in the stars,
with characters traveling -across this field of view of ours.

One will often contemplate the possibilities,
of all the fancied origins, of life in heaven's seas,
did Kronos eat the five they say?
Or does the day disguise them?

Perhaps he eats them every night,
as they dip on the horizon!