when the morning star became

truth north, a little nibble here

and there to take a chunk more than

the usual bits –

then dressed as stars the eaters go

on about their dance in the sky,

falling towards earth with glee

with the wind whistling past

till the fire has left the pit

and found green grass nostalgic.

where still ponds still hold on to

unwavering faith,

beneath surfaces calm the undercurrents

strain and push

though not a wave breaks at the skin

it must look like a clean slate

easy to be a pond meditating when earth trembles.

transforming to glaciers, frozen mountains

shoot up towards the blinking sky

whose mouth has just given a sign –

one weary sun droops towards the end

her orange red tinge diffuses across

layers of sea and air, to fuse with breathing

ice thirsty for fire.

and fire blazed in deep water unseen,

an orange hue like a crescent moon

beneath troubled earth groaning with each

latitude raised by

the arms of alps given wings

… …

fly to true north yonder,

towards fading clouds still trying to wave

to diminishing earth no longer

wanting to be a part of a giant morning star

wrapped in bits, chunks, bites

of you and me.