Celestial Nostalgia

The stars peer into the dark with glass eyes,
smelling the rain on railings they never touched.
They trace maps of unknown ways with fingers of light,
counting windows like letters never received.
They fold their whispers in small chests of light,
sending them at dawn like mail without an address.
They listen to the passing trams in a city they don’t know,
and keep the desire to be called by name.