the sky filled with stars
pattern after pattern
working itself out
going on & on
this restless mind
on & on
profound
empty
impatient:
life goes on & on
working itself out
like a splinter in the finger
working itself out
slowly
like history
like the white
bits in our fingernails
by which we cling
on & on
over & over again
dying, being born
over & over again
filling the sky with stars