Ink Tea Stone Leaf

The superstars subside among the stars—
I mean, the stars among the light pollution.
Every day it feels harder, telling
light from blindness, photographs from fakes,
and terror from the loneliness of fate,
but hark—the earth is beautiful, the birds
are beautiful, the trees are beautiful,
and all the while the superstars are shining
bright as ever, waiting for the night
we'll tear the phony constellations down.