Dew On the Sea

Star/savior is an infirm rhyme, but here:
even the smallest music box will chime
if you place it all the way inside your ear.
It’s like unfocusing your eyes to see
the nest snug within the burning wood;
it’s like when the weather map pulses green
after you look away from all that red;
it’s like an artless belief in mercy
(who is smarter and happier than you
permit yourself to be); it’s a near-dream.
It all exists, but we may need to soften
our bones to be born into it. Think dew
on the sea, think hammered gold, think zygote.
We may have to be both borne and boat.