oh, little star:

  how far will you
 careen from your warm cradle? cold
 and cruel is the black stranglehold
of dark. pray tell me, is it true

that still you think yourself aloof,
 immune to loneliness, unfazed
 by whipping winds that strip and flay?
it must be so: when gripped by youth,

your neighbor is a stranger, closed
 to your interrogation. “strength
 lies in belying your great warmth.”
(this fib becomes the oldest ghost

that haunts you.) distance only grows
 out here in space; you’ll flare, expand
 with fusion, and then wither, damned
to shrink until you bloat and go

unquietly into that good
 night. no one seeks your mid-life calm.
 they’re drawn to spectacle. the dumb-
struck watchers of the guest star took

explosion as a sign. of what?
 you cannot say. ignore them: your
 fires cry aloud. your stellar forge
glows ravenous for matter, sought

in unabatingly concealed
 and dusty corners. eat your fill.
 when else to savor the bright thrill
of nebular rebirth? reveal

your brilliant birthright. stupefy
 the earth with roaring blue. unfurl
 coronal arced ejecta. curl
a field that cannot be denied.