The Planets in the Palm

The Planets in the Palm

They rise like smoke

from open hands,

these ringed worlds

of shining light.

The stars burn bright

with restless fire,

their colours drift

through quiet air.

Each planet spins

on trembling lines,

on threads of space

that pulse and sway.

The sky unfolds

as if it knows

the weight I keep

within my palm.

The galaxies hum

with ancient voice

with stories held

beyond our reach.

I lift my hand

the worlds rise more,

like fragile dreams

set free at last.

They float above

in gentle arcs

their shadows cast

across my skin.

And for a breath

I guide their path,

a silent hold

on drifting stars.