blinking illusions

The stars don’t
always have
us feel small
sometimes they
give us to
feel giant
able to
take in life
and death of
light blinking
in one great
scanning look
the stars get
us thinking
of our might
how we could
have been blind
to those far
sputtering
lights trapped in
our own small
world the scope
of it some
bright color
blocking sight
stopping those
questions those
strong queries
about place
about our
place in things
of places
beyond us,
beyond our
place the place
where stars the
explosions
happening
everywhere
the lights not
warring with
each other
but each shines
alone best
for faces
of the ones
looking to
them warmed by
them writing
under them
at the best
times crying
under them
giving word
to what they
themselves can
not hear for
when such words
are spoken
the ear harks
not beyond
a ring it
makes around
itself a quite
definite
stubborn tight
ring such words
must be heard
by thick night
those punctures
are enough
for our voice
to travel
through it can
wave from here
this crying
rambling rock
into light
past light to
dark past dark
to swirling
fantastic
disaster
confused streaks
flying here
flying there
everywhere
and ever
unattained
which is what
keeps earthly
ones like us
coming to
it it takes
our voices
and gives us
back not voice
also not
voicelessness
it gives us
something more
than our voices
in our sound
when we drum
under it
when we make
love under
it when we
stake our lives
on knowing
something of
it, even
its blinking
illusions.