for the girl who couldn’t see the stars

[this is a series I wrote for a friend who told me that where she lives, light pollution is so great that it’s impossible to see the stars at night]

i.

eyes blistered by drops
of earthen tongues

thirsty for light,
you look skyward;

perhaps tonight
Saturn will wrap rings

around the universe
to keep your heartstrings

alight.
//and still the heart hopes
impossibly, inevitably
expanding to hold
the galaxy//

ii.

tonight is Hecate’s tender
breath landing on your cheek,

a caress of distress from beyond the
veil, silent as the splendour

of death-pale dawn. but the hour’s
late and you are so very tired; will

stars not rise to relieve flowers
of their dry-grounded

dreams?

//and Nyx the moon shall devour,
yet the wolf still howls; how
else than by reading stars’
hopes in braille?//

iii.

dewdrops stain your face and hands;
invisible ink stabs eyes red:

no light, no stellar consorts
to keep you from your bed,

Ophelia’s ghost lips pour sweetmeat port
nothings into your head

‘my stars are life and
life is lavender

– wilted’

//thy stilted stars can wait
no more; hope’s flowers
blossom and grow
beyond the storm//

iv.

soaring above the clouds in
your head, your heart emerges

into the amber canvas, as the sun
sets on the divine with mirthful dirges;

your eyes, nightingales in migration,
stalk impossibility: another

rhyme without a poem, life without mitigation;
still, your skies yearn for Icarus’ starlover

ministrations.

//ghosts hold lanterns to ward
green monsters from under your bed
but who will save the stars
when Gaia is dead?//

 

 

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