Heaven Lost

At three in the morning
 The stardust falls-
 On my hand like a tempest
 Crashing to the shores of a fragile land
 Breaking and washing over, like a spirit
 Haunting the shadows of sunless moons-
 The bedfellows of history
 Now they cleave, now they carve
 Mold and undo what art can only try-
 To reforge out of ashes-
 Out of the dust of falling stars
 Twinkle then and rupture the ether-
 That heavenly hold that keeps your spells
 In the place God carved for the broken hearted
 Tell them my name and claim
 What I gave so willingly
 And judge me as harsh as the broken felon
 That undid his own heaven with ease.