the star shines brightest at the tip of the
whitecap as it leaps and turns, travels up,
licks at the night to find the silver point,
the direction in which to travel,
faux in the pas of the twinkle
single shine in the constellation
and having found it, only once
beats back down into surf
restless, boiling, rolled into undercurrent
silver reflection burns through the surface
reminds it to leap again, this time higher
faster, washing into the tear of a star
that burns alone and waits for that lost kiss.
Notelvis
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