Nebulae

Nebulae


Star eyed child.
Each day, you resurrect the sun

it rises under your nectar thumb,

copper to yellow
it is you who brings the green, so on.

Star dusted son
with your childish sigh vivaciously veiling steel stained sky.
You blare insightful poems
with your laughter.

I imagine you- a wolf, blowing down
the blanched paper boxes containing all the lives that others lead.

You, dear young child nation
you are opaque clouds, interstellar gas, you are mindful; full of mind.

You are wordless numbered equations waiting to be worked from within.

You’re figures of future answers, collecting like flowering things,
impregnating the air with your pollen.

You’re calculated and yet amending as you go;
your meaning is expanding still.

You hold questions like torches, hold questions like
the fire itself.

I imagine you all as nebulae

explosions of reactions and actions and gem
light pours so simply, from your every pore.