C’est une transe exquise

why reach for
stars when their
drunken light
stumbles to
us anyway?
maybe a little
late, but eventually…

it doesn’t dim
their shine to
know stars may
not exist any
more, because
(for a time at
least) light was
all we had, to
feast on, and bathe
in, and leave behind
for grey and black
and all those words
we couldn’t take