
in the Blacksun Nebulas
he gave me
a string of mooncrystals
in cool ambers
and the rogue purple–pinks
of
lost stars
I wore them to bed
and
in the shower
for twenty lunar years
and to work in the rocket yards
where they failed to warm
amid bittersmoke and cinder
even elements of the cold beyond
under the jet and glare and noise
one night they broke—
scattered light across
the gravel landing field
I found only a handful
ten unthawed cubes
ten unleashed winter suns
my father’s stardust
remains