Nothing Of Stars

A reflection on lost certainty

Between the doorway 

and fireworks a year 

is changing and all our

conceits, all our deceits,

are falling back to earth.

Melting in parallel they 

are unjudged ,offering

no clues going forward.

Broadcast like seed on

hardened ground, they

are a coarse blueprint

of a place we thought

we knew, a place we

liked to call our home.

Remnants of fireworks

know nothing of stars.

Tony Noon