Sometimes I wonder if the stars have feelings,
If they have senses.
If they hear our secrets before we do,
And if they keep those secrets locked away in some deep, hidden part of their glow.
I wonder if they, like us, have stories.
Stories of pasts, presents, and futures.
I wonder if they pass these on, if the tales of all but forgotten lanterns of the night
Fill the hollow spaces in all who care to listen.
And what if I could listen too?
What if I could become a carrier of the starlight,
Living alongside my primitive partners in flight,
My fellow guardians of the dark?
What if the stars do not hold our stories,
But have entrusted us with theirs?
If I am just a living counterpart,
A speck in the universe representing something so grandly vast,
So unnervingly huge?
What if the sky is a fabric stretched tight?
What if the stars are pin holes poked through a page of glass that shimmers with the possibilities of what lies behind?
What if I could reach up to the moon?
Touch my finger to the sky’s masterpiece?
What if the tree’s leaves whispered the night’s tales of glory,
If the mountains swayed to the rhythm of their dance?
What if we could sing alongside the branches and peaks,
Communally asking why as we stared up into what is really only a glimpse of the universe’s infinite possibility?
And what if the stars whispered back?