The stars aren't really there
Just a reflection of what once was
like the stark , silent placenta of a bunny
when a mother eats her young
Under a caressing sun
that one day will fry the earth
that feeds life after birth
that adorns mountains
like pimples sat on her beautiful face
that break out in volcanic lava wrinkling canyons
storms that were mild breeze
that navigated flocks
protected harvests
carry sound and scents and pollen
carpet clouds that carry rain
that washes and nurtures and
floods and pounds in classical bass
when hailstones guilotine icy nights
over the Sahara
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