Tuesday, May 7, 2024


When the spent stars 
at dawn, commence 
to their wavering—

long overdue 
in disappearing, but 
not yet gone—

who am I 
to keep my eyes fixed 
on their glimmering, 

wishing on their embers
(every wobbly 
last vapor)

only that they 
could keep their 
lucky arms unfurled? 

I am not the kind 
who would starve 
in a forest 

just to spare 
the wild and brilliant 
plumage of its birds;

so why would I impose 
such a stagnant thing 
as beauty 

on the strange 
and mercurial soul 
of this world?