Silkworm, don’t hover too close.
Save your wings and breath and keep away
from that smiling star.
To come too close would burn you,
singe the fragile hairs on your head.
No, stay on the windowsill.
Feel the warmth kiss your eyes
but know that you will never
come close enough to touch it.
Stay where you are safe,
among the rest of us,
crawling in the dark in search of love.
Those that weren’t blessed with wings
will never know that danger:
the desire to fly.
We lurk below and treat that radiance as a gift;
we say thank you as it shines upon us.
Stay perched on the landing and be grateful,
for it knows when you want too much.
You won’t listen, will you?
You’ll lift from the safe ground,
beaming, anxious to reach what you’ve
always watched.
And I’ll see your burnt body—a
shooting star—
glimmer as it falls back to us.