Constellations

like scattered souls
blinking in the night,
as frozen as deer
(in headlights).

Who can see
what we've become?
Who can say
what we've measured?
Can we know
the distance of our moral
(disassociation)?

Can the shaken stars
see our patterns,
see our horrors,
make animals of
(us)?

When it all comes falling -
crumbling - slamming - down,
Who will watch us fall?
Will they see us sink
and make a wish?
Or will they see
(a waste)?