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.