Facing the Stars

Facing the Stars read by Jonathan Moya
I see the stars
and feel I don’t exist,

that my grief is the only
thing that has meaning.

The grief that welcomes
my own eulogy,

reading my headstone
in the decaying light,

reminding me that I
am mortal and must die,

dissolve to indistinguishable
dust and dirt, a man, an, a.

The glowing cheeks of my parents
just another flaw among flaws,

me a broken stone among a broken
house made of broken stones.

I know suns die every day and are
mourn no more than a falling leaf.

Are flies the only things that will
enjoy supping on my remains?

Yet, I still look up at the night stars
and wonder if they were made

to house all my/our dreams,
the eternity of all hours.

Will they expand beyond
these shadows or just maybe,

I still don’t exist and am just
a scream that’s still asleep?


The selling of a condo where a dear friend once lived brings closure and thoughts on my own grief and mortality.I,,