how each star is marked
by the meanings
cast upon a paper sky,
by the way light
always charts a path to rise
like a hollow Jesus
pinned against a cross
of night;
the oracle of reason,
the holy man of faith, each as wrong
as Judas misunderstood,
eyes fixed to ideals of truth
beyond compassion,
those in the east come
those in the west fall
connecting-the-dots to mistake
each pattern for a Braille of Revelation
while the deepest light
weaves us, thrashes against us
empty.
Gold trophy winner
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