Seed of Stars

In the palm of a pocket of mist
the seed of stars breathes softly
listens to the night that has no voice
Germinating, invisible confessions
weave through the fingers like dawn threads
words I dare not speak become light
The pocket becomes a minor sky
every confession is a star that trembles
a shadow that shines without sound
When the hand opens, the mist breaks apart
a small constellation remains on the palm
and the seed grows, telling what you kept silent