How does a thing be made—
does it drift amongst the sea of stars
for its discovery,
or do we divine it
dreaming?
How can we cast the countless,
category the graspless cosmos?
Every Mercury, it all turns
water in my hands.
Rings of worlds intense
and unbeset converge in the
events of your eyes:
I trace them with
ink from my
heart.
How have you been made?
Have I wandered so,
head drawn heavy,
averse a vacant vault above—
or did I divine you
dreaming?
I moult,
unraveled and limitless,
spun up by you.
I am thread bare,
devoured by you—
galaxies cascade,
cluster, recall, conflict,
diverge, dance, collide,
create—
o behold!
the powdered wings
of her empress!
jeweled interstellar!
she rises within you,
blackthorn and bramble,
firmly of the earth,
fire in her chest,
a crown of sky.
the wisps of
my last air turn
stardust in my lungs,
Capricorn calls me
home