Make sure you live.

Make sure you feel the pulse

of a plane miles away,

of someone so close.

Go out and find something.

Let your face bear the golden brown of all those weathered days,

and know that sore muscles can still carry you;

you'll get farther each day.

Later on, when the sun sets,

You can decide why its light hits you,

and remember how it falls just so,

so you can always follow your shadow home.

Later, when the moon begins to wane,

and no longer pours silver from all its craters,

you'll see every star,

multiplying, in response to the growing darkness,

keeping watch until they are curtained by the smoky dawn,

by the light in your eyes, once again.