Let’s look up—do you see that bright pinprick above us?
The one that reminds me of the twinkle of your eyes.
It’s not just a star—it’s a cluster of stars
dancing and dying and being reborn.
Perhaps there is a planet up there, like ours.
There’s dust and it’s dirty, yet the light blazes on
so that we, in our dirty planet full of dust,
rejoice in the glory of the heavens.
Don’t laugh at me! Listen closer:
do you think I cannot see the dust in the way?
The stars twinkle from the heaviness of our atmosphere
and even then the light can barely make it through
without sighing through our sky in fiery tears.
I know that you hurt. I know that sometimes
your eyes grow dim and you collapse to your knees
and scream out the first line of psalm twenty-two.
And I thank God for it —don’t cry—listen, I do
because when I kiss your tears off your cheeks
and the bridge of your nose, I taste salt:
primordial, raw, and teeming, and I understand
what it means to be alive. Even in pain can the
light never be extinguished: the tears only accentuate
the sparkle of your eyes and your quivering lips only
beg to be kissed.
So hold me: Let us dance and die and be reborn
in this glorious stardust, for you were made to be loved.
And know that when I laugh and kiss you,
through your tears, I can see the whole universe
tremble.
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