Dawning Creations

Talk you down,

tilt your chin towards westward Zenith.

Silt lifting from your tears,

dust, fear and death, too.

You’re like that Zenith.

Talk you through,

spilling words, echoes of fragments 

I wish I’ve heard 

on those days 

far too bright,

beautiful sunlight only hurt my eyes.

There you were.

You were a piece of Zenith.

Tilting my chin to face the sun,

to face all the glory and enrichment to come .

The stars, the black holes,

they endeavored

but failed to swallow us whole.

This whole time,

we had our answers.

They sat in our laps 

like restless children.

Weaving and waving exaggerated

hands in front of our faces.

We couldn’t see.

We couldn’t expel the maddening spotlight.

We couldn’t ignore it’s inevitable burn. 

We didn’t know we had

just what we needed.

We were supernovas,

devouring the atmospheres and 

all the space between.

We ARE shooting stars,

searching for fertile land to seed.