fingers tingle
arms on fire
I tore at the air
--give me more, more!
you emptiness,
you formless
hanging motion--
give me--
I cup them now
low, in front of me
hold, in my hands
a moment
kindled, on bits
of ten thousand
things, passing
this flicker--
I cannot reach
further,
but the sparks fell
ground from the air
when I grabbed
emptily at the stars
mine--my stars!
mine, dying in the dark
my light this,
no cold-light
no walking, breathing
roiling constellations
the clouds hang on the moon
the smoke from distant battles
far above me
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