Star-eater; a poem

Star-eater

Here lies the star-eater.

Tilting on the ancient wheel

of summer-glaze-breath,

you speak the oceans. Fire's the meal

for you, the star-eater. You defy death,

and out of your mouth, a universe opens

pouring forth, as fleet as the stars

light on your tongue. Space bends.

Swallow down Mars.

You're the star-eater, alive

in moonbeams. You inhale moonrise

and galaxies survive

as your fleet fingers fiddle the lies.

Stars are sunk in your thumb,

and meteors shower in moon-bye

all along the star-ways that come

down and flow out of the sky.

There's a galaxy of planets

stamped in your heart when you die.

And it's true that you could

breathe back your life.

And you know that you should

not; you take out a knife,

speak the oceans in riddles,

count out the stars.

Tear the sun-ways from middles,

and swallow down Mars.

You could unwind

the bangles, the threads

the tangles of time

and bring down the dead

for one final reel.

You're the star-eater.

Fire's your only meal.

You speak the oceans, teeter

on the cliff of the world.

You slip away, crying out

as beneath you stars twirl.

It's all encased in a fly-box

the stars, universe and everything

as you open your mouth, it unlocks

all the stars that shine and bring

a soft ethereal light

that glimmers on your tongue

like a misunderstood wight.

And your arms are outflung.

Bring up the glorious fire

undress in the light of the sun

and know that you'll never tire.

Here lies the star-eater.