Memory of Stars
My heart is a bird in
a too-small cage.
She can't even fit
through the door—how
will I set her free?
My heart is a river
at night—I step into
her dark waters.
Where do they come from?
Where are they flowing?
My heart is the breath of
morning, before the sun has
risen. She is a delicate
light, cool with dew
and memory of stars.
©2023 Clelia Vahni Lewis
