Counting the Stars

He counted the stars
and found them too great
too far distant
and too cold for his love
Maybe they already died
their long traveling light
a long road of lies
Returning to his typewriter
he wrote strong women
wrote the love he had to give
Carving the women he wanted
from the emptiness of a page
For lack of a craft
he wrote mythology
personal and cutting
Until he bled as redly
as he had quietly
for everyone to see
apologies to all those he loved
veiled in his words, a need to be touched by them
in their criticisms and appreciation
He wrote to them
counting the stars
naming them to love
for everyone who would listen
and love in return
But set free his words were not him
and he went to bed alone
Cold in his death
as they basked in the light he'd cast
He went to bed
with the names of all the unseen stars
dancing in his head