To Stare at the Sun

The shelves were bare, the closet stacked

With boxes full of memories

The one thing left was just the stars

Stuck with a little putty to the bedroom ceiling

I turned out the lights and they winked at me, silent, familiar

Set in the constellations I copied so carefully

When I was young and the stars shone for me

Out of the blackness

  Climbing the stairs, I reach, unsteady, for the ceiling

And bracing myself, I touch the first star, and twist

Until the putty gives, and the star lies in my hand

Shining palely in the dark

And one by one, I pluck them

And constellations crumble into black

And afterwards I lie, sleepless, in my bed,