There are still things out there I haven’t seen—
a mere tadpole blindly clinging to the base of the pond.
I reach for every star in the inkwell but none are close enough—
even on toes tickling the edge you’ll never reach that boundless ceiling.
I heard them call that warm violet glow love but it appears rarely and never stays—
you’ve only had a slightly quenching drop but there's still endless waves to wander.
