The moon doesn’t speak to me like it used to. 

Stars silent specks of solitude in the sky, 

Rather than wondrous beings that guide me 

Home. I used to wish on shooting stars, 

Until I realized I was too late because the stars 

Were dead. A million years ago I’d be granted my 

Wish but now I’m wishing on dead souls. Flashes 

Of glitter turn to dust. Ashes. What are you leaving

Behind? A galaxy. Why do you fall? To get away 

From the living, to a new beginning. On Earth the moon 

Doesn’t speak to you, covered instead by the commotion 

Of life, replaced by the rays of the sun. Bright. 

But sometimes voices sneak through. And other times hidden,

And wonders become dust. I know a few of the dead.

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Inspired by, and including, the line: “and wonders become dust. I know a few of the dead” from American Sonnets for my Past and Future Assassin by Terrance Hayes

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