Reinstate the stars.
Hang them in their rightful places.

But they were there all along, you will say.
There was no exile in the milky way.

OK, then,
don't let them take me back.

Detach them from the coat hanger of memories.
Shared moments and shed tears,
left to dry. Emotions eventually
absolved.

For, they are testaments of light.
Galactic bookshelves facading
as balls of gas.

Pin pricks of heaven.

And what if they do take me back?

Perhaps, give thanks that someone
cared so much for a time
and then relinquish, refocus.

Then give thanks even more
that the great sewer
who holds the needles, threads and pins,
can both pick and unpick,
puncture and knit.