universe explodes into being
every molecule birthed
from starry furnaces,
driven ‘cross space and time.
we are but the dust of stars.
December 27, 2008
As I thought about this prompt during the week, the only thing that occurred to me were snatches of songs (particularly Joni Mitchell's "we are stardust, we are golden.."). Finally I realized that it had been a very long time since I'd looked at the stars. So last night (the night of the new moon -- darkest night of the lunar cycle) I bundled up and took a sleeping bag outside to spend an hour or so just watching the stars.
Even though I live in a rural area there were street lights, house lights, and passing vehicle lights that dimmed my view of the stars. Modern society seems to be doing its damnedest to blot the stars from view. Who sleeps beneath the stars today? Who lies awake and finds pictures in the stars and makes up stories about them? We hide inside caves of light, making mirrors of our windows. What are we hiding from?
For other poems on the theme of "stardust" see One Single Impression.