peace in the neon

true north

 

"you can hear people's thoughts,"

 she said, studying

    my palm. 

 her eyes met mine.

"no surprise."

 

"your soul             split

 with the big bang;

             scattered. 

   you are        dust 

 searching.

      incomplete."

 

"what is it that you write?"

 she traced a line

       deep and wide,

    declared

 beauty         in 

    formation. 

 

 skin 

          reveals

 constellation,

 the whole of shape unseen

    in a map of time and light.

 and there is a

      connecting line

   that pulls

 between crown and sky.

 

we look up in the chicago night.

is that the north star?

       i think.

"is that the north star?"

             you ask.