If a star fell into my hand,
would I close my palm,
or be afraid of the burn?
And would I look up at the Milky Way and wonder
if she wanted to return?
Perhaps I would put her in a glass box and keep her in my pocket,
and show the box to Fear and Jealousy when they try to wrap their cold arms around me.
And I would say
“This star chose me, leave me be.”
When the lights would go out, I’d take her, and light the world, and people would say –
does the sun rise brighter today?
And I would smile
and walk,
with the star in my outstretched hand, sure of where I was going.
Because when you’re floating on a cloud,
nothing can cloud your vision.
And if a star
fell into my hand,
would I
be blinded
by
its
light?