At the galaxy’s edge float stars no eyes will ever see.
You set them out thoughtfully like candles
in a bedroom, or lanterns on a river.
Some say you care for none of them,
that you scattered them on a whim,
forgot all but the brightest,
then one day even those.
What if they knew your delicate precision,
how your heart ached to let each one go,
how every orb was a part of you, shining?
You have named them all
to keep diaries of their travels,
their ancient orbits and clusters
who spin in glowing whirlpools for eons.
All your stellar children, the solar seeds you planted,
who carve their initials in gravity and burn
for your pleasure, someday they will all be grown.