For Jilly’s November collaboration. She wrote the beginning of this poem, and I finished it. Her words are in bold, and my completion is in blue. 

It’s never about birds in poetry;

it is about our inadequate, 

marrow-filled bones that

weigh us down

reminding us of the immediacy 

of the dust. 


It’s never about stars in poetry; 

it is about our indefatigable, 

persistent, pertinent hope that 

lifts up our eyes, 

reminding us of the long journey

of the light. 


It has travelled a billion years

to find your eyes; it has flown

through so many solar systems, 

past so many galaxies, 

reminding you that though you are dust, 

it is Stardust.

6 thoughts on “Stardust

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