She is faded.

Worn out,

Worn down.

Time stole her crown.

What do you do when the place you call home

Is one that you no longer recognize; when you

Forget that place is no mere function of space,

But also a function of time; and the

Crystalline memories you can still see,

there was a river/in the black hills/that my favorite trail followed/with pine trees lining

its banks/of hard ground and towering rocks//i would beg my father/to walk that trail/

as far as it went/as many days as i could//and as we walked he would/recite poems from

i could break beneath the weight of

atmosphere.

these stars, balanced atop my head

are heavier than the sun,

lending their light

across a universe, a lifetime

to shatter my insides in their silence.