Vertigo, Gazing at Stars

[rejectomorph]

The rough-edged, massy dark of starlit trees frames the sky which moonless, cloudless, swarms with pinpoint lights that wheel nightlong, drawing the eye, summoning thoughts of distance. I watch them and listen to rustling leaves -- muttering tongues of trees -- while weight of earth tugs at my feet and makes my airiest desires unattainable, lashing me with time. Twirled to face the sun, I will conceal myself indoors and dream of invisible Orion, that spatial illusion cast as mythic reference, drifting overhead. All the while, I will know that my words are like the sound of the leaves sent chattering by random breezes.