A starfish
lies motionless in the sand,
tossed onto the beach
by the froth of casual waves.
A stranded star,
with five golden fingers
reaching out of a sunburst
noon, mourns the loss
of the darkness which
birthed it, then hurled it
to death on earth.
It comes to us all,
this fall from grace.
Longevity’s a mere illusion,
dissolving into grains
of salt. We dive down
from heaven,
discovered by children
with shovels and buckets,
then pocketed,
forgotten.
