today, i am curled a logarithmic spiral

sinking towards my interior

pulling memories, dreamings, a few regrets,

a small hurricane, some watermelon seeds

and a model of the expanding universe

(made from 3 jillion smears of silver frosting)

into my garden of rebirth,

cultivating my soil on low hum speed.

i am not bright, not emanating

until you come by, splashing me with your whir of light

grinning me out of my private depths

with that cherry wide glitter of love

until my nautilus revs like a motorbike

and i start giving off a gentle shimmer,

holy union of my core smolder and your winged gloss.

they say this is the nature of starbirth

how clouds of everything ever possible

hang in dark whirls,

quietly generating all that gods will ever claim

unseen

until you look with the right wavelength,

and see their coreshine scatters the blaze of nearby stars

until you see how noticing

makes all the difference.