Gather the scattered stars, unite them into constellations, weaving tales from fragments of the cosmos, crafting a singular story.

I have sections inside and appeal outside expressed in unified color anathema to poetic gesture.

What herb the cook added to the bread when they did not have enough hours to bake it properly. One quarter of a Simon and Garfunkel recipe.

A mark of presence, a sign I'm by, In sand or snow, I'll leave my spy, A shape of proof, a moment's stay, But I'm just a trace, gone come what may.

I crown your drink, I cushion your rest, I gather in waves on the ocean’s crest. Light as air, yet seen by all, what am I that forms and falls?