I
Of this vast, radiant universe,
I am of but one star.
Would the panoply be
precious strewn
were not each glimmer a signal of richness?
Of the multitude of criaturas on this round world,
I am but one being.
Would humanity be
a proud species
were not each a beacon?
I count my cells,
my breaths,
my sunrises and sunsets,
my schemes and dreams,
my depths and feelings,
my world that I take up
and embroider.
Each human is created from other humans,
each star from stars.
I have craved to be more human, more starry.
I let it be
and the riches without
are become within.
I beg no more.
Let me digest what I partake in.
II
Those indiscretions I was so careful to demur, they are for the taking. The paltry world bursts into color. My so-called evil is humane life. Everything is good like it should be. My heart grows in this soil. The evil name-calling drove me to starving; I was desperate enough to take what ill-suited me. What suits me is enough; perhaps everything in its own place.
III
Universe, thank you for the flash flood that canceled the trains that got me back to the metro where I find myself as the sunlight streams sitting behind two young friends one with a freckled shoulder bare but for straps, black camisole over scarlet bra, and a head whose mane is wild multi-colored orange, and the other saying “I have seen a lot of things, too…” from the back of her neck’s tattoo.
IV