For the Sake of the Shine

if you are found wanting, still,
after having stood barefoot on wet grass
when the dawn surrenders its last hopes of illumination
(because it forgets the stars are coming,
because it forgets the stars always come)
just before it takes that long, resigned--yet courageous--breath of
its own made-up death, then interrogate and iconoclastically confront
the measuring apparati you have been instructed to love,
and the myth of uniqueness that locks you in mental quarantine.

Remember, the stars always come
without any invitation, for the sake of the shine.