I am a collection of stars
Not yet a constellation
I am a handful of sky
And I feel black night slipping and sliding through me
My veins filled with inky discovery.
I am a winking canvas,
My fingertips glowing with white anticipation.
I don’t yet have a shape.
I am somewhere between being free and unmoored,
A patch of night among many.
I don’t know my destination.
But does that make me lost?
I’m not sure.
There’s no astronomer to draw lines between my twinkling edges
There’s no one to form me.
So I suppose only time will turn my bright beginnings