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A Human Journey

A million stars peer down on me

over the edge of the void

assembled like chattering starlings

on a telephone wire;

the pins that hold the sky up,

a pattern not yet cut,

fingers holding back the material

black and cold and old

veering over the edge, vertigo,

on the brink of the void.

Something may happen here –

vision may expand, shapes coalesce into new sense

a fleeting passing beat may be missed

for a moment we may soar higher than the stars looking

down upon the crawling ages –

then again, maybe aeons will pass

as they have before and over repeat.

In our most carefully wrapped dreams we

all realise that if the stars

were joined together from the vantage

point of Earth with

a black marker pen

they would spell


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