Treasure Island

RIC S. BASTASA


DEAD STARS


dead stars

dead stars
do not shine

they are dead
and the twinklings are
gone

dead stars
all dead
falling to the sea
the moon grieves

stars are
moon's princesses
her diamonds
on her motherly bosom

dead stars
fall to the sea

they refuse
to die

they now live in the sea as starfishes having fallen from the skies
one dark, lonely, evening
of my life

seastars, name them sweetly
but starfishes to the most common fishermen here who make love
to the stinky fish vendors

for once tonight
the moon spreads to a certain fulness of emptiness

trying to hold
seastars

(they are called starfishes by children who smell salt
and rotten sea urchins chasing hemit crabs on the shore
they are burned by the sun
but they already know how to keep themselves safe
they know how to feed themselves
with squids those that sparkle at night in the shallow parts
of the sea)

trying to kiss
them
in fact,

yes the starfishes, all they have are memories of the stars
and they now hide
among the corals and the electric eels

regrets and remorse are always late and they always murmur it to
the oceanfloors

after their fall and no one wants to hear
everyone is busy feeding and escaping away from one another

here in the deeper part of the marine blue seas...

Submitted: Monday, April 21, 2008

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