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.