You’re acting like you’re not a star.
Like a sun under a shade cloth of anxieties,
trying to hide yourself,
but forgetting its shadow has a halo effect;
A glimmer of wonder,
around a cold, blank, spot out in space.
If I’m always choreographing the passing track
instead of dancing with the moment,
then I’m just delaying myself planning;
Living just below the burning point of bone to ash,
no more than vapor in a sunbeam.