Little Me Chased Constellations

from the back porch
hot tub, on the dead
end road at the base
of a Montana valley,

where I tried to peek
through holes in mother's
black blanket that masks
death from the living,

only catching glances of
the world behind the sky,
and never feeling closer
to gravity's bare ground.

Now, I hide from light
pollution under this
white roof and inside
the caves of my own skin,

but sometimes the moon
sneaks in to connect
my time made marks
with its own neon lines -

and through these scars
it hopes to remind me:

Tracing my own stars will
always bring me home.