Pin pricks of angels dot the sky.
I simply have them on lease,
they are not mine to own.
They bleed your name,
and mimic your voice in a broken tune.
They are yours.
I want to wish upon a star,
but I know you don't believe in wishes.
Wishes are for people who are too lazy
to make their own dreams come true.
So instead I wish upon the Earth,
which for all its faults,
seems more merciful.
I tried to splatter heaven on
lined notebook paper,
Chicken scratch prayers to
the girl with the stars.