Stars
I think they are eyes,
blinking in deep
somnolence
to midnight
nocturne.
a sheet of
argus
spanning skies from edge to edge,
soon swallowed by dawn.
flames to the cold moon;
celestial attendants
to their marble queen.
or, perhaps,
seraphs
emblazoned in indigo.
night’s vigilantes
casting
mosaics
onto the placid faces
of silent, glass lakes.
Then, like a
dream,
they leave no trace of their faint
faint existences.