Stars—don’t doubt that they align.

Invisible, they shout; endless, they speak;

silent, they dwell; heartless, they shape.

Yet, I never needed my path to be shaped

by a star. All it took was trust.

Ashes—they fall. Closing your eyes, you can smell

them; opening your eyes, you can only feel them, sense

them, not see them. Into the water, the blend. Then,

gradually, they drift away as ripples of another day.

Brown—a color that isn’t too dark or too light.

In nature, I see brown. In myself, I see brown: a grounded,

organic individual, knowing much less than the wise

color of black and much more than the lucid color of white.

It was once a time too long ago to express.

By the rocky precipices of Maine, I stood, there 

with my father and my mother, glaring out at the

vast, open sea. I saw blue. Everything was blue.

By the shores, a family gathered. There, they had a barbeque,

appropriately dressed and done for the summertime. There, the child

was the noise maker, crying aloud at the wrangling roar of the waves.

Sunscreen, it was everywhere; its pungent, stifling scent lingering around

in the air. I was a child back then. But, I knew the summer wasn’t for me.

Back home, summer is an era of rest. Sitting down, rocking back and

forth on our outdoor patio, I sat there reminiscing about my night at Maine.

The stars were countable. The days were countable. Now, everything is

all a blur.