The coming of day in distant places is pale; a white bead winging on a black canvas.

Hold your breath and sail along courses calculated by dusty arcs of moons; beyond the great eye 

of an eternal storm, past rings compressed in slanting slides, stardust shaken from spinning faces 

into aetherworlds, scattered gemstones. Reach into seas of nothingness – a meteoric intercession.

Keep falling.

Stars change not for mighty distances, but you might.

And so do not contract your wings until the pendulum sweep grows wide,

as east dividing from the west is vast.

Finding yourself caught inside a silver web, you will know the guardian of hell.

You will know the Earth of heaven when you reach it with your fingers,

the fluke of the leviathan: a splash upon a stone; a plunge into the solid, waving sea.

Flickering on the border of expansive, salted plains, one heart rushes chemicals of fire.

Skate into the creamed and sugared sea of ice: golden-silver-crimson colored waves.

Lose yourself.

Go to not return, and you will understand the magnitude of love. Remain, a castaway

enamored by heights, an angel, white-boned, a born soul, encircled by a longer night of stars.