Dmetrystar — [2021]

Those who glimpse dmetrystar never speak of it the same way. One says it hummed — low, like a cello string plucked in an empty hall. Another says it smelled of rain on hot pavement and the inside of an old clock. A third insists it moved when they looked away, tracing a slow, deliberate arc toward the place where their childhood bedroom used to be.

Here’s a short, evocative piece on the theme — treating it as a name, a mood, or a lost constellation. dmetrystar dmetrystar

Dmetrystar has no mythology because it has no witnesses twice. You see it once. Then you spend the rest of your life not believing your own eyes — or believing nothing else. Those who glimpse dmetrystar never speak of it the same way

Tonight, step outside. Turn your back on the famous constellations. Let your eyes go soft. Wait. If you're lucky — or unlucky, depending on what you left behind — you'll see it. A third insists it moved when they looked

Not a star, exactly. More a wound in the velvet, a pinprick through which another sky breathes. Its light has no color you can name. Amethyst? No — too sweet. Mercury? Too cold. Call it remembered silver : the glint on a locket before you opened it, the sheen on a raven's wing a second before it turns.

You find it on no known chart. The astronomers pass over it; the sailors never steer by it. But at certain hours — just before true dark, when the horizon softens into violet ash — it flickers into being: .