When fear dies

There's something in the body you come to trust, eventually,
or not at all.
The timing is interesting, because crisis is what's at stake,
and too early or too late makes you miss the
merry-go-round,
and you might bump your
nose.

Let the people with whom you can be sincere be your
lighthouse, no matter who they are.

And let all you love take in all you are,
so that return will be
complete.

Uniqueness matters less than
music of communication.
When you hear that, and know unbearable vastness of which
you are part,
you sing,
even though your heart hasn't practiced, and your mouth hasn't
kissed.

I wish that our human dust would wake,
at last,
and realize something about the star-fire that
stares us in and from the face, while we're polite about
not noticing it.

Can star-fire die? Has anyone noticed that absolutely everything
is on fire
once you brush the wind's dust from your eyes,
and earth's seduction whispers things you look away from,
momentarily, to gaze at galaxies furious at your
indifference?

We call it beauty, but I think in another galactic language,
fear's removed for the sake of a
quicker
conversation.