Stars I think they are eyes, blinking in deep somnolence to midnight nocturne. a sheet of argus spanning skies from edge to edge, soon swallowed by dawn. flames to the cold moon; celestial attendants to their marble queen. or, perhaps, seraphs emblazoned in indigo. night’s vigilantes casting mosaics onto the placid faces of silent, glass lakes. Then, like a dream, they leave no trace of their faint faint existences.