my star has a tail.

well maybe, we all do.

a fish, they have one.   an octopus, goodness, I’m thinking the number eight.

us.   how many.   is it two, perhaps it’s four.   crawling or standing up.

       does that count.

       some tails you know proceed the cart.
 
 
my tail is reaching seventy light-years far away from here.
       that’s history on the hoof.

       are we falling torso first.   rhetorical.

       most questions are, don’t you think.

does light ever really end.   dim is not the same as gone lost & stray.
 
 
dear Sol, the letter begins.
 
 
they will know you farther and nearer than me.   you are more bright.
but I am still, a part of the inside of you.   always.   us.

     when they see you, they see me.

     I promise.   no lonliness.
 
 
for you, I make bright words.   my share of gravity.   lifting Light.
 
 
no lie, as you include me, so too, doubt is spliced into my sensibilities.

     truth is, ignorance is not bliss.   no tail sewn in place.
     no circumference.

wet the end with your tongue and lips.

     bare threads.   hand over hand.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

image:  Solar System Quilt by Ellen Harding Baker 1886, public domain