Thoughts from the Hubble

Star-shine out of reach
Proximity’s profane

Like fictitious friction
Perhaps frictitious fiction?

Sparks form, and still too high
Top shelf and next to beauty

Ceramic jar above the fridge
Hid beneath a weighted lid

Fear of falling, true
Fear of spaces, too

A star afar
To be beheld

A star too close
To blind and melt

And thus I know
I have no place

Not with a star

Like you