I am a smooth surface.
I am a number of hiding places.
I am meat, I am bone and
I am anything but my own.

There is a hollow
embedded in the thick
of my mind.
Through it, no light comes.
From the darkness, yesterday
whispers in known voices.
The cold dawn of tomorrow
breaks on a black sky, and I am anchored along the edges of a fracture.

I am pieces of a star
that hung in the sky for millions of years
and died in supernova, scattering itself across the cosmos;
Rearranging until it became me, pulsating and passing
through my mothers legs.
I am pieces of a star, and
when I die, something else will
become pieces of me.
And when they die, something else
will become pieces of them.
It is the waltz of time and space,
and in small ways, nothing, none of us
will ever really die.
I am pieces of a star, and like time,
I am immortal.