She Was the Poem

she loves like constellations
quiet, ancient, whole
even when no one looks up.

her heart, a hidden poem
written in dusk and dewdrops,
read only by those
who wait long enough to listen.

they say she’s too soft.
too much, too dreamy.

but they forget 
it’s the soft ones
who shape the stars
with their bare hands.

-By quiet voice from stars