![\"images\"](\"http:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/07\/images4.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She has a silver star <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Marcia Goldberg<\/blockquote><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2050","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-contemporary-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2050","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2050"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2050\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2053,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2050\/revisions\/2053"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2050"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2050"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2050"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}She has a silver star<\/strong><\/p>\n
sunken in her eyes
(I didn’t know it was about stars
I would write whose suns
cast a warmer light
from those tranquil places
which are her eyes than the ordinary
glass cold twinklers in the starry mass
sourrounding surrounding the usual sky.)
The rare glow
like her own motioning and highlit hair
kicks up spots of dynamite drama
(I remember those eyes
when she was a child. The star
was showing then, too, in the landscape
of undying invitations.)
One good contact stare into that soul struck
into by the silver star in her eyes
pours in something none of us knows about
Heavenly orbs. For age there is none.
There is a lingering attachment. There is a
fixed but dancing
artisty that laughs at death
and heats my solitary sky-whipped heart.<\/p>\n