A campfire burns on an island tonight
Burning curtains of a lightless sky
Writers, researchers, bums and all,
Spread-eagled, belly-up, on equal ground
Just for tonight.
Tonight, but not just for tonight,
Many hands rise up to catch the stars.
A shooting star falls,
And someone cries
A constellation forms,
While someone dies.
But on that island, just for tonight,
I catch a million stars with my eyes.
Flat-earthers never looked up on a winter's night
Never saw a hunter give birth from his knife
They never felt the cosmos curl overhead like a child holding a firefly,
That looked up to see a million dreams
In a charcoal sky.
No comments:
Post a Comment