Star Struck

Dear Michael,

My name is foreign - so what does it matter?
To you I am not even
a shadow of a shadow of a shadow.
Think of glass, clear for me
and dark for you.
How you wander in your daily celestial orbit
from east to west,
ignorant of the mortals wriggling
below.

Your showers of dust splash the sky.
I fear the shards may have pierced me -
For I am
Starstruck.

From treetops I lean,
desperately reaching out
but all I grasp is air.
I am careful not to fall
the black hole waits
below.

Have you ever felt empty?

But then
your starry fingertips brush my own
in a climactic collision

As the white envelope clatters on to the mat.