They say we are stardust, each
connected by an ethereal blueprint, bound

atom by atom, the unending synapse firings
in our minds. We can make misery from that,

or happiness – if that is our compass – with
the turn of a question, the pull of a trigger,

the search for an unreachable answer;
the rippled pool of circuitry dawns and affects

us, no longer children of the garden.
What happens to forgotten memory? I look

for gods in each ocean of murkiness, eyes closed
to my own unraveling, bleating like a lamb separated

from her own. Should I gaze at the night sky –
Cassiopeia, Orion – to find the making of who

we are to each other? Blow a kiss to the earth,
it will remind you of your beginnings.

It will leave you aching. Blow.

# # #

Donna H. DiCello is a clinical psychologist whose first loves have always been the mind and the shape, sound, and meaning of words. She has had poems published with Blue Heron Review, Cold Noon, The MOON Magazine, Greensilk Journal, and Minerva Rising Literary Journal, among others. Along with her co-author, Lorraine Mangione, she has had a non-fiction release with New Harbinger/Impact Publishers, Inc. titled Daughters, Dads, and the Path through Grief: Tales from Italian America, which was a finalist in the 2014 Foreword Reviews INDIEFAB Book of the Year Awards in the category of grief as well as a finalist for the USA Book News Awards for 2014 in the Health: Death and Dying category. She is currently working on a series of poems about Iceland as well as a series based on the Tarot. She lives in CT with her spouse and spirited Norfolk Terrier, but considers Provincetown, MA and Iceland to be her heart homes and geographical muses.

Photo: Bess Hamiti