Ode

My eyes do not deserve the stars,

and the freckles in yours.

Maybe by the moonlight security would seem

blissful, but I fear I wait.

For something not worth wait,

a shadow of a blade of grass,

or a leaf.

I miss you still, whether recommended or no.

Controlling seems futile

when love is the night sky.

I may wait to some degree,

but I enjoy the journey and the faces of those

who teach without recognition of doing so.

Those who I love each piece of

and their reflection of our planet I hold in high regard.

For they are of the earth

as you are,

and this keeps oceans at my fingertips,

futility refuted.

I close a sanctuary around you

you who are of the stars

and moon-dust,

particularly particled.

You whose atoms vibrate inside fingertips

on skin

A pulse, intangible and weakening.

All who are here radiate to your eyes,

and your hand is a feather in mine.