For Simone Weil
She saw the stars
apart from one another and serene
like one could never hope to be
or wish to be, upon this crooked Earth where
a galaxy onto himself
commands and strikes and wrecks
a disappointed mind bent upon illusion.
Sometimes the stars
would send a soul-mediator
disguised as bird or grain of sand
alighting on her open palms,
by the year’s blaze
and the rationed soldiers’ sugar
refused with abstract iron pity.
The stars were sad that night
and sorry as her sisters
for her, taking leave on foreign ground
and self-destroying grounds
where one revolves upon one’s carnal glory
of which she, sister of many, spouse of none,
refused to bear the burning seal.