I knew a woman who advised

write your poems in the sea
write your stories in the sand

the moon tries to pull
away the ocean but

only scatters tales
through the sky like fireworks

or knives dulled down
from overuse

I knew a man who claimed

constellations are knives
that slice up the darkest nights

this morning I saw Aquila,
Lyra and Cygnus

sneaking up on spring