I was born a restless child:
A child of unsettled starlight
molded in my mothers image
and birthed by her ambition,
I became a crux and crucible;
an intersect of my father’s intellect

an aspect of an all knowing architect’s intellect
a birthright to reconcile—careless grace, child
to find something not so reducible; a creative, contrary crucible
Not exactly right, not exactly able to cite, but in my palm, starlight
again and again, I am an acolyte of ambition:
of privilege and spillage, an unyielding image

innate in my impatience, obsessed became my image
To me, my identity, and most of all my intellect
Regard adherence like an adhesive, for much like ambition
it comes quickly, and grows up quicker, child
Sing a song, starlight
Something suitable for my beautiful, juvenile crucible.

kaleidoscope within the crested crucible,
dreams unto alchemy into grimace and to image
Guiding me forward, ever the curious child.
Intwine imagination and aspiration into intellect
and whatnot. Want not, child
Out of reach, as if someone could teach ambition

Find solace and silence in this rendition of ambition
Make me a critic; make me a crime. Make me a crucible:
a charity, a challenge, a child.
What’s the difference? Impatient, infantile image
undeserved of anything direct, I reject my intellect
I reject my adherence. I reject the spotlight of starlight

Greatness does not stem from starlight,
nor even talent. Greatness is the aftermath of ambition
Make yourself great. Gather your will. Garner your intellect.
Become something, someone suitable—a new immutable crucible
Build yourself a lineage, a skilled image
make something of the stars in the sky, child

Sestina for starlight,
emerge from the crucible

inflamed in ambition—
an afterimage of my mother’s image

I am more than my intellect,
more than a child