Hidden Universe

The way that you wrote your A’s—

Like incomplete stars missing a line.

I could simply open your notebook,

Flip it to one of your lyrical compositions,

And make constellations in paper;

White parallel lines in two dimensions.

The way that you wrote your A’s;

Like unfinished stars waiting to scintillate,

I always liked the way they appeared.

Your A’s were little constellations,

Existing within a galaxy of ink stains,

On a universe of art, doodles, and words

In that tattered and frayed notebook.

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