Behind the Stars

Stars and dreams have been in my thoughts lately; sometimes waking, sometimes sleeping. There's no coherent story to tell about them, nothing with a singular event or a narrative or even a cryptic conversation, so I'm appealing to poetry to make some sense of what might otherwise be difficult to convey. To me prose and poetry are the difference between orchards and gardens; when I can't labor for the fruit, I walk among the flowers.

Behind each star may be a dream

So though dark and void may seem

The sky at night like blackened ice

Still flicker phantoms of delight.

Behind each eye may be a fire

Consuming, never ending, lost desires

Rooted in hearts like imprisoned light

Flaring vast beyond the reach of sight.

Past all lights and fires, past all dreams

Past all that sleep or waking seems

I must pass, must pass alone someday

Beyond what all reason or fancy may say.