by Shaun Lawton
Of all the infinitely imagined worlds
only one gets realized at a time.
We are just the faces on the scales
of the passing serpent of history.
Oh, the places we've been
how they pale in comparison
to all those masks that once
upon a time ago bloomed
out of the dark.
All the lovely corners of this world
become crowded when you alone
visit them.
Never has the solitary been accentuated
so much as when it finds itself
caught within the crowd.
This is why the silence
from in between the stars
gets drowned out in our waking song
The light from each star's loneliness
joins the choir in a hymnal of desolation
Like the fading howls
of wolves lost in the distance