Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
You don’t see a globe of night
But a dark expanse and infinitesimal
Sparks of startling color
Constellations ticking through detritus of the plain
Acquire just enough to make a surface from which
You rise above the disinterested, peering somewhere else
You will not wear ambivalence like a white dress
And the sameness fuels your motions in air
I saw water running from you,
A chrome edge of fractured glass
Shines with impunity despite the pervasive ink
That would occult anything so bright and bereft of shame
Not a mirror, but a different construct
That you thought would end your fatigue
Under the still, still stars