The stars will show no favor
withhold answers with stoic reserve
despite burning madly
So we never know how they came to be
five-pointed
Or how it’s decided which will emerge
as the first one seen tonight
Wishes and dreams soaked-up and trapped
with power to make none come true
And after all they burn out
fade red light, leave us dark and alone
Still
the pulse . . .
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 