One star
grips the night.
I stand where darkness kisses the earth,
cold climbing into me.
The other stars move on.
The moon sheds its silver skin.
Morning tilts skyward.
Trees lift into their shapes.
Birds test the air.
The star stays,
a single syllable of light,
refusing to fade.
Something in me leans.
When it dims,
it does not fall.
It slips into blue,
choosing its moment
to become unseen.
I stand, lit from inside.
Still here.
I choose
when I vanish.
© 2026 Lynne Curry
First published in The Green Silk Journal in May 2026
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