Constellations

In the night sky I try to find

My brother from another mother

Or perhaps a father, who knows?

I look at the stars and the patterns

Like children's book, connecting dots.

But I know that this is my send off the spectrum

And for him it is as random as his is to me.

Light: the judge of these facets.

We, inhibited by our limited traces.

Who even knows if he exists or not?

And if he does, how far is he?

A needle in the haystack

Or a stack of needles?

Needles, I much enjoy the nostalgia 

Of connecting dots on the canvas of the sky

And wait for them to look at us

And say 'Hey! People actually live here!'