When there’s nothing left,

Consider the stars falling overhead,

A stranger passing on a bridge,

Random words overheard.

Forget astrology.

Take the stars literally,

The bridge as metaphor,

The stranger as familiar.

Take metaphor as metaphor

…

Every step desire.

Every step disaster.

It isn’t written in the stars.

It is written in a constellation

Of syllables collapsing

Along your synapses

Into electric silence.

- From What the stars will bring by Greg Hewett

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