I will not spill over.
I will lift my head up
and let my eyes brim.
Will hold still, and see through
to a wet-bright sky.
No matter if moon
or sun above, no matter
if none are here to see
my face if I fail in this;
I will this. That I will not —
will hold my water
and keep my face raised —
will not. And when
I have not, I will
remain fixed on
how clear the air is,
how full of gems
and the sharp arms
of their shine.
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Dark Matter 
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