there  ✧  is  ✧  a  ✧  star
will sleep until             it is destroyed
what we are                          and spills out life
       where our essence                                    into the void       
      become a part of the sky                   and what wise hand      
      you and I                                                             may­ fabricate      
moons and planets                                           the many things  
melting out into the night                                     that it creates  
      incandescent searing light                          moons and planets        
till the Sun begins to turn                                stone and metal  
burn whatever they can burn                           running water  
until only monsters remain                            flower petals  
     and up the chain                                       moving round      
  on and on                                   by their own power    
      to eat the bees                                    little bees          
       little birds                 to eat the flowers        
singing sweetly in the trees

Bright moon is shining
A curious night watchman
For the sleeping sun

you inhale tragedies
and exhale poetry