My mother said she could see me with little
Boys, like little suns, tiny stars, their own

Planets rolling about the sky, their sky, with
Me a moon, but a moon, smaller now, but

Gripped by them, in their orbit circling them
For the rest of my life and out beyond it

Into the blankness of their lives unlived yet,
To outlive my light, to bounce off my rock

When it is dead, when it is simply a reflection
Of theirs.


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