I stare out towards the dark above. The winds don't understand me, but perhaps the stars will (1: stardust).
 

I feel the warm summer air wrapping me, a steamy world that insists on enveloping me in its greedy arms. One by one, I feel the molecules of air thrust themselves upon me, forming a dense atmosphere around my body (2: thickness).
 

The crickets formed a choir some time ago and seemed to want to persist for the duration of eternity, but they had long ceased when I arrived here, surrendering to the competition of distant city noises and breeze whistling in the tall grass (3: cacophony).

The moon has disappeared tonight, allowing the stars more room to glow upon the earth and impeding any young, hopeful poet to stare out of their window and contemplate some silvery moonlight (4: challenge).

The world is slowly rotating around itself, a spin that causes my mind to whirl and myself to nearly lose balance (5: axis).
 

As it does so, the Earth whips around the sun, demanding of itself to complete this task that the galaxies have assigned it (6: orbit).

The grass stings my thighs and whispers at me to move my legs so that it may look upon the stars as well, but I refuse (7: itch).

With my eyes turned towards the above backwards, I feel my eyes zooming in and out of a focus point, moving from a star to the ever-present black background (8: intervals).

I find myself searching for constellations that I would likely never be able to decipher (9: impossibility).

I feel the galaxies moving, infinite brilliant spirals of stars and planets, asteroids and moons, and I see that I am in a place where I could reach out and touch infinity (10: infinity).

 

The stars understand me.