今朝の落書き

In a soundless place extending without end
I connect points that each give off their own light

First-magnitude stars and second-magnitude stars
or sixth-magnitude stars and stardust dimmer still

those things, inside my head
I connect with imagined lines

Writing is a constellation
words are light

Things that seem beautiful
things that feel ugly
either way, words are simply shining
knowing no meaning
possessing no power
simply burning alone

With our fingertips, we trace lines that are not there
pretending to have forgotten who taught us
that this is what it means to communicate
instead of calling out, can you see
we connect the light
Orion smiles
the lion dances
the archer swims through the Milky Way
Andromeda sheds tears

Only on the celestial body where we look at one another
are the stories of the stars handed down

One person makes novels
another, tanka
a friend, lyrics
I, poems
with the fingertips that trace stars into constellations
we string words into sentences

Making peace with that arrogance and delicacy
falling into the valley between expression and art
yet lightly still
tonight, too, I arrange words
as though casting a breath into the night sky
as though telling just one person
I walk through the galaxy

Thank you for reading again today. Polaris keeps shining whether or not we exist, and will surely go on for hundreds of millions of years. I wonder what its counterpart is for words. What could it be? I find myself wanting to ask what it is for you.