I Could Just Marvel

I can barely see the hand in front of my face
The blackness, so resolute, almost visceral
And yet, I could just marvel at the stars
Every constellation stretches out high above
Now, I long to grasp at a cypsela on the breeze
I command my hand to reach into the air
Without evidence, I am unsure it exists
So I feel the breeze
I see the stars
And I weep





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Photo by Matt Gross on Unsplash