Sky-blues

Pinpoints of dreams
settle on my bones
and I sing the notes of flesh,

the skin’s melanin, browned
by unnerving brightness,
coloured by time and climate,
waiting in the wind’s face,
tuned alone to sky.

My pinhole eye
opens to colour and light
and I lament the scattering

in the void
where small fires still burn
with the stars’ remains:
the leftovers of suns
longer dead than life
has ever lived.

I came here already formed
of mass, energy and time
an arriving waveform

beached on a cinder of space,
a segment of the spectrum made visible
in the rise and fall of everything;

I am a precipitate,
a coalescence of mysterious matter,

rain on the torn edge of darkness.

© BH, 2022

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How we got here. The stars are in our dreams but that only reflects our passage in time immaterial through the hearts and debris of suns. We are made of star stuff. Every element, every atom, electron even the swirling energy that drives us and the coiled systems inside us pulling life back from entropy for a brief moment.