We lie in bed with our arms around ourselves,
cradling the mangled bodies of children
who had the stars squeezed out of their eyes so that, still shining, they fell
down our faces and got stuck there in the shapes
of tears and little hairs and pimples.
For a while,
if we shut our eyes tight, our bodies aren't so stretched
and overgrown,
and there's a little more time to play before sunset.
Kid sitting at the edge of a dock.
Legs swinging in free fall.
Wood scrapes into his hands.
He thinks that the stars can talk to him.
Midwestern night.
There’s something out in the fields,
Something banging on the roof.
Fresh vomit in the toilet.
The sink is running, so you can’t
Hear your own heavy breathing.
There was a collapsed star.
There was light at the very end of a cave.
There was lightning that struck a tree.
There was a baby born
With a slightly bigger skull, one day.
Comments
This is beautiful.
I love this.
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