A poem about perception
Not knowing, is the way to touch a star.
Small and half empty you can believe
that across the field and up the hill
you could hold that white light
in cupped hands and believing that,
you never need to go there.
Never need to really try and touch it.
Taller and full of concepts you know
on top of the highest of high places,
even on a ladder, on a tower there
your hand would only shrivel
in cold and empty air and the stars
would seem further from you.
Worse, you know they most likely died
before our fingers learnt to point.