They say the stars are wanderers
Each fleeing from its place of creation
Some travel alone through the cold black night
Others collide in blue-hot explosions
And a few dance together,
Circling 'round in magnetic obsession

I've been told the stars die, and that others are born
In great glowing nebula wombs
The brightest burn all their energy rampant
Until that last passionate burst –
Such a vivid calamity
Leaving only a bitter ball that eats light
Others, like ours, remain humble and cautious
Quietly kindling for eons

They say the stars are made of dust
Simple elements rising in great shining clouds
Of volatile, luminous gases
They swim and spin in turmoil
From the heat of their own self-consumption
Dust, passion, burning vapors and light –
Of these too is made the human heart.