There is something strangely cathartic
about smearing Elmer’s glue haphazardly onto paper stars
and then accidentally glueing my fingertips together
or dripping glue onto my knee

and then smooshing the gooey star into a pile of silvery glitter
like little pointed disco balls
hanging by strings overhead
releasing little stars in a miniature meteor blizzard

the hand reaching to pluck them out
of the seeping black galaxy
is covered in a layer of metal

and the glitter that reaches my knee sticks like a cap
bouncing light off in angles

later at night, when these prayer beds hit the floor
I hope they shine through.