light, dust, a little rust

you would think
that the best thing
about globetrotting
would be a worn out,
achy suitcase
stamps on your passport
in different ink
and a slightly
hazed and crazed
mosaic of experiences
collected and forgotten

but the best thing
about travel
is not even a new horizon
or a violently
free sunset

I wish I could take
your hand
and make you stand
where I stood
and show you

the dewy purple
of the milky way
the vast ocean
of the galaxies
that you won't even know
the fairy dust
and the faint lust
of the star dust
a sky celebrating
the light in your
soul
and the dreams
in your eyes
and the violent urge
in every fibre
of your being
to be, to just be
then
there
right there
and gaze.
gaze at the magnificence
of what is being written
before you -
before you feel
a little bit of you
leave you
and join the body
of the star spangled sky
and become one.

it is that moment
when you are
and you believe it more than ever
except you don't

this reality could
not be unparalleled
on the surface
of some violet coloured star
somewhere in this expanse,
where at this moment
a bit of me
must be leaving
to join the body of the
star spangled sky.