Wax

Esther is confused about caring:

here the sky is brittle and brackish,
the stars are cracks in varnish
the moon is just a cricket ball that someone waxed the wrong way.

She knows that it was her with her scalpel
that took hold of the night with both hands
and cut some stuff out.

It means something,
a great one eyed octopus
might muscle through,
spread its thick belly out over the hills and hum.

The cracker jokes don't help
but she wears the paper hat
lines up the fire stones, ask them to audition for rocks.