Gliding indigo on a blinding bough,
melting the white as it infected us.
Moons that plucked our veins,
“She loves me, she loves me not.” Overlooking the edge of land,
the frothy green kissing the rock under
the trillions of intricate flakes.
Twinkling holes in the floors of heaven sitting on the
transparency that ended our world,
just where we had left them.
We burned our eyelids to
watch them travel through the medium,
but they were always peering back.
Even at the edge of our world, they sat where we had left them.
But never did they leave me.
I am impregnate with that light.