I Have Starfire…
I have starfire on my windowpane! The glitter and bravado inhabiting the stars has been thrown across my automobile, like fairy dust, like shards of lost sunlight, like fractured pearls, cascading in white, like flecks of happiness that need a new confidante, and I am the glad benefactor.
I sit in perfect loneliness, contemplating the intractable march of heavy industry, noting in the distance the smoke pluming above the silos, like a prophet’s speech, like a deep and extended conversation with the black heavens above. It is an exorcism, a stupendous release of the ghosts of torment that tarry inside, a phantasmal exodus in grey. I ponder the sundry souls lost in their keeping, perusing the grand edifice like actors in a science fiction film, working through the night in diligence, attired in big overalls and identity defying masks. I look at the lonely lights, pallid and pale, standing in resolution, brave in their service through hail or shine, stalwarts in the Victorian waste. I imagine the black stairs keeping sundry ghosts and lost shadows that surely make sport in a twilight dimension. Undoubtedly they speak to each other in lost languages and hidden affection.
I have starfire for an interlocutor. It speaks to me in bold whimsy, in extroversion, in the language of daisies and buttercups and bees upon the spring tide, in the language of sea spray hitting off the coral. Here at my window is the coronet of Diana, discarded from her esteemed situation in heaven and expectorated from the welkin maw, bequeathed now to my guileless hands. Here is the stolen chalice of Thor that has fractured into a million splinters and dropped to earth. Here at my windowpane are the remnant glisters of expired planets that have sent their forgotten beams to a rank weirdo, to an incapacitated blancmange, sedentary in an abandoned park, and interminably mired in an impending apocalypse. Here are the radiant sands from other nebulas carried on space winds and dropped to earth like a divine accident. I have starfire.
At least, my poverty is not absolute; I have starfire. I have the sundry jewels and discarded finery of prismatic rainbows and unguessed sun showers. I have the benefit of soulful stares and inquisitive glances into the dew drops from heaven. I have a resplendent assortment of precious stones with which to commune but never keep. I have a new idol to bewitch my sight. I have starfire…
✨
