My mind tours among the hidden stars,
Jumping light-years between them
In a matter of glimpses.
I notice I’m moving too fast,
Not stopping to linger and praise their glow
No desire to soak in their warmth
No impulse to fantasize how far their light goes
They are the same stars,
Who used mesmerize us all night,
As we lay beneath them, on a mattress of grass
Their playground, our canvas,
Their sparkle, the seeds for our glee.
That lawn is soggy, not a happy petrichor.
Soaked to a chill by the insistent sprinkle.
The pitch black canvas in ruined today,
By creases of thunder, tearing it into shreds,
And blotched by murky, disfigured clouds.
The stars are hidden, glowing only in my heart
Burning in an all consuming blaze,
And yet, they’re missing the warmth, the frisk
There’s no light, the fire still burns.
On a morbidly cold, dawn forsaken night.