Bits of stars lie broken,

crushed underfoot.

So much for dreams,

so much for the stability of the sky.

Chunks of stars fallen,

faded, swept aside,

I see them every day.

It’s hard to acknowledge their presence,

to remember what they meant,

what they were for.

I walk by them with the dog,

she sniffs them casually,

stops to pee.

I am wondering how something

so commonplace has garnered

such romance, such an aura,

wondering why I myself put such faith in them.

I am old and

dreams don’t come so easily now,

I’ve grown cynical.

Sometimes when they catch a

bit of light and an old sparkle

glows for a second,

they are lovely in the dirt,

the very dust around them is lovely,

I am lovely down to my soul.

I think of the new dreamers,

lovers who look at the

night sky for hope.

I laugh at them and yet I can’t help but know

it’s still there, inside, in me.

by Cher Bibler