You cover yourself
with a hundred suns,
swim in their light.
if these pins of light
are one too many
or one too few,
if you could switch off one of them
or if you could tear one from your sleeve
and toss it back into the distance
where you see your shadow explode,
where dreams fly out of your ribcage
before they touch the floor,
where you trace back the echoes of songs from another time.
And when they cross each other,
the songs from that shadow
and the light from your suns,
do they stop for a handshake?
Do they look each other in the eye?
Do they make it across,
the shadow’s last song to you,
and your light
to that distant blurred shape of a shadow past?
Image source: Album cover of Pink Floyd’s Delicate Sound of Thunder by Storm Thorgerson