These Hazy Days

Turning Stars

Stars in the sky turn.

They are far, farther than I

As I rise into spilt salt and blue belts,

My body below still. She looks peaceful.

I am glad. I have been a stranger to myself

For too long. I have lived through

A renaissance of gold awakenings,

But turned blind eyes to my own.

No longer. I can say this with certainty.

The silver filament that kept me down

Has broken, and from its frayed ends

Feathers have grown, and it has fled.

I am unmoored and unsure now.

Mercury and plum wrap me

In their sighs and pull me

Into the dark.

My tears don't fall.

They slip from my eyes

And as rain reversed, rise.

The world is awfully small from above.

It's tattered and crusted and moth-eaten

And yet, somehow, endearing—

Like some raggedy old cat

Or a balding teddy bear.

I want to wrap my arms

Around it, brush its brow,

And braid its hair.

But it is not my burden

Anymore.

I must understand that.

I am distanced from my world now.

It wasn't my doing, but it is done.

And I am turning, turning

On mirrored black.