A Year of Poems – Day 84

A point of light is all we have,
flashing forth like a roll of foil
shook out by a toddler, who
in the twinkling of an eye,
grows old as the foil grows dim
with all the dazzle of a star,
which in a second spends its heat
to spin a diamond from molten hydrogen,
and then shall shine forth no more;
but even then, years later,
a point of light is all we have,
one in a thousand thousands
spinning soap into lace threads
until the wind blows the suds
into floating star banks far away.

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