I was dying from nothingness Saturn’s rings encircling my heart and starving the spirit in isolation that would not give up but did not know how to speak to the banishment

and my eyes were silent I who knew the world was a poem on the lips of every breath

—love is creation—

and the fates bearing the gift of the loom to spin the tapestries of mortals that ancient craft made manifest the source of all our art

and we become the weavers for it was tightened threads of destiny that wove us intertwining

and the world is enlightened in a kiss a simple beauty that can conquer the universe

and a thousand starlings fly from my ribs traversing every symphony of thought and truth and consequence

the palm of a cloud offers me the moon tonight and I will accept its gift.