stars at dawn
Editor Underground
by John Dias
Dear Stella,
You remain like a naive childhood memory:
One night, stars crawled over the beach as I would,
While I tunnelled my feet through the damp sand.
I thought myself immovable in the light breeze.
But my garments became pennants that were
thrown around when the strong winds came.
I was a tearing pinwheel in their current when I first saw
how fast things could change.
Dearest Stella,
You’re fleeting like the stars that faded this dawn:
When memories of you were scattered across my mind
like the constellations that spread across the night, their
Luminescence was the lonesome thought of the way you shone.
You’re the antemeridian sun every time you burn them away
with your presence. A glimmer of you stays when you’re gone.
I saw the day end every time it did; you reminded me of
how fast things could change.
My Dear Stella,
Your radiance raised me up until I fell down in the rain:
The moon is a glimmer of the sun you once were.
I once felt your warmth pull me towards the sky
only to meet my own condensation and descension.
I fell down to earth; the rising tide is my attempt to claw back up.
I am wavering once again and I only exist in the cycle of
how fast things change.
Stella,
You were the thought that I had an identity:
I am nothing but a conflicted psyche,
pulled by the moon to the shore,
and then drawn back to the sea.
The only humanity I have knows that
I am no different from every living soul.
I am another victim of impermanence,
futilely watching how fast things changed.
Love,
Nicholas