They hold the power to pinch the sky,
little eyes, a multitude
so vast they outnumber us all
who have ever lived and ever will;
they dominate a subtle massacre,
humbling the heavens, who have
no choice but to clutch them in.
When one comes unglued, unhooking
itself from among its kin,
the black sky swallows it, snuffing
the flame of a single unblinking eye,
before it can reach us, they are
untouchable on the stage
of their own theatre.
Why do they obsess us so?
When their filaments glow, we believe
in the resurrection of wishes.
They could be alive for all we know,
and all we will ever know:
astounding in their potential.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.