What the Psychic Said

Star without a constellation, the sky is endless and you belong in it.

You have run away from home to live in an orphanage.

Your desire is a stray dog you fed once, but then regretted.

It howls outside your window each night, whether or not the moon is full.

Ants will show you where sweetness is hidden. Flies will tell you where rot has begun.

Remember when the river invited you into his bed? The itch of mud drying on your skin?

I see you looking for a locket to close yourself in.

Find the latch that allows time to swing on its hinge and release it.

Find the trap door in your skin that opens into a field of buttercups and fall through.