DAY FORTY (2015-5-18)
I blame stars.
Here, my feet against the waves, I throw another log and squint into the sparks,
those points of light that have tried so hard to match brilliance
and failed. The logs themselves have given up, too:
they have turned their branches to cinder with the hopes of being a tree
and burnt out, similarly, never having brushed the ceiling of the sky
before being cut down. Even the sand attempts to glitter,
though it can only hold the light depending on how you glance at it.
I'm at fault here too.
I've reached skywards, helpless and grounded;
I've been broken pieces, desperate to reflect light;
I've crisped and thrown myself as a pyre in attempts to grow.
I'm no better.
I'm no worse.