Where Stars Lean

You held stars
 in your fingers
I’m sure of it,
or perhaps
 it was just your wink
  playing tricks.

Do I reach
 for one,
or claim
  the whole sky?

Reach if you must,
 but know this
stars are
 not souvenirs.

They bruise
 easily
  and remember
 the warmth
of every hand
 that dared them closer.

I watch
 from beyond clouds,
 beyond winds,
from horizons
 stretching
  farther than desire.

Then teach me
 the difference
between taking
 and being invited.

I’ve mistaken gravity
 for permission before.

I feel it
 in rivers’ pull,
in mountains’ tremble
 when I tilt
  toward you.

That’s how the sky chooses.

It leans
 not to those who grab,
palms open,
 willing to be changed
  by what answers back.

The stars bend
 toward you
  only as the wind
   whispers their names.

I can be patient.
I can be reckless.

Tell me which one
 you’re hoping to see tonight.

I shift like soil
 after rain,
  waiting
for your storm
  to meet me.

Neither.

I watch for the moment
 you stop performing
 and let your hands
admit
 what they want.

The constellations lean closer,
 curious
  which way
   you will fall.

Then watch carefully.

I might surprise you.
Or linger
 at the edge,
  teasing the sky,
   testing its gravity
and yours.

Mountains rise,
 rivers turn,
and still I reach,
 rooted
  yet restless.

The wind bends closer,
 leaning
  into trembling mountains
  and rivers.

Stars shimmer,
 holding their breath
  for what comes next.

A pulse passes
 between all things,
silent but felt,
 stretching
  the space
between reach
 and surrender.

Horizons tremble
 as stars shift,
a slow dance of light
 across the curve
  of night.

Rivers wind through valleys, restless,
 mirroring
  the pull from above.

Every tremor, every shimmer
 answers
  an unspoken question.

Clouds gather
 like conspirators,
shadows tracing secrets
  across the mountains.

The sky leans lower,
 its vastness brushing
  the edges of earth,
whispering promises
 that tremble
  into soil and stone.

A single star falls,
 sliding past trembling treetops,
  catching the reflection
   of rivers in motion.

Time pauses
 in that thin space
where gravity forgets itself,
and earth and sky
 hold their breath together.

Light drifts through valleys,
 spilling over peaks.

The wind carries whispers
 that taste of starlight.

Rivers rise
 to meet the sky, trembling,
curving
  toward the heavens
   with a devotion
    that makes mountains sigh.

The stars tilt closer,
 tilting the night with them,
and clouds melt
  into the soil,
as if gravity itself
  has forgotten
   which way to fall.

Every pulse of breath,
 every shimmer of light
  becomes a thread,
weaving
 earth and sky
  into a single, luminous body.

And then,
 for a moment that lasts forever,
they fold into one another

Mountains breathing
  beneath infinite skies,
Rivers carrying constellations
   in their flow,
The wind circling,
  circling,

Until there is no above
 or below,
only the quiet, radiant hum
  of two worlds
learning
  to be one.