can you, camus?

the stars don’t
twinkle out a hidden message
bestowing meaning
or purpose to creation
the fluctuation
in photon displacement
is caused by
the planets wobbling
awkwardly in their orbits

the same way
when stars explode
they give off the elements
from which we were birthed
though we are no
stellar nurseries
simply the lump sum
of dead glimmers
scattered throughout
the nothingness of space

dying star
or satellite burning up
upon reentry
with my heartbeat as
my metronome
i whisper odes to
the wildflowers in your smile
to the planets
as they blot the light
a meteor shower of
metaphorical delights
bleeding across
the distant skies
while camus smirks
at the absurdity
while acknowledging
a fitting pursuit

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