|
The moonless night sky is
just cheap satin with a
thousand needlepoint holes
that let the old, old light in.
Look, I’ve been to weddings and seen
the monarchs migrate towards a new spring, and you were
the lovely astronaut who saw every planet at once,
a galaxy entire, twisted like a pinky
finger conjoining two palms, and
you must tear
at that veil like
he, jealous on the altar would.
And sleep with that
like you sleep with me
making a bridge of your body
(something you’d engineer up
at your drawing table), and building it of
only the cheapest skin and bones all painted
over with glossy veneer.
selfsure and weightless as
the dawn you reach for it
desperate as elm branches strain
for the sky, dendritic
and touch nothing but the cold morning air. |
