what if light is the language of Star and Star is the language of night and night is an under-understood feeling of ineffable space where the infinite writes insight, with plasma roiling from its transmuting pen into particles ‘n photons that zeal; that seems to me to be so very real … then our shadow slow-diving on the ground is a reminder of the night we always carry ’round… down-light halting-stars we are, aching for the vastness of space, that lonely-only place where heat-beats swell on the edge of night - here we are sun~bending toward a red-ochre sky, a gnarled branch, and bony-finger reach for a cloudy-whirl, white on blue, all the while curling-roots 'round stones of earth, star-imbued mud for sipping nameless elements of course - we lurch in wind, whimper for the climb, make leaf-song, slow-swelling from Sun drenched dirt, the blood of longing serpents-up, from deeper whirl'ds-turn'd where harder-roots have sunk into the electron-cloud where numinous-valences are allowed, which are inspired to arise, such that lead becomes gold glowing as a singular-sight, vortex'd through Quantum tunnels that make our body bright - just another rapturous transmutation of matter into light
