by Bella Dalton-Fenkl
I won’t grieve when your starlight,
your galaxy, oxidizes,
Even though navigators
can only dream of nights so clear—
When it fades, you’ll turn to lodestone
to guide me home: my lodestar.
Five great peaks under Heaven,
Dusted with clouds of fraying moss,
Battered by the turning tides.
Mother-of-pearl inlaid, sun-streaked,
Saffron stars... when the angles shift
Fern-studded blades slash like knives.
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