Some nights here the sky is so dark,
The black as thick as tar
You wonder if ink is going to drip on your head
As you stand beneath the stars.
You feel that if you trail your fingers
Through the Milky Way they’ll come away
Stained with interstellar ichor,
Snowflake galaxies sticking to your skin
Like lint, sequin supernovae glinting
In your upturned palm…

(c) Stuart Atkinson 2016

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