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Untitled Poem #3
Even the sun is terrified
hiding from stars :kisses
that refire the moon
—you will think it's morning
this time for good, the moonlit breeze
lifting its great shadow
as in that story where a boy
and his carpet or words
windblown on some yellowing, torn page
—you will squint, your heart
carry the blizzard under each breath
under you lips
—you will think you're flying
pulling from your lips
handfuls where weeds
crack open steep cliffs
to refill the lightning bolt in your back
—you'll think it's air
breathe in these stars
let the sun come back
only to rest, some shade
not too high, behind the yard
and trees unraveling to snow.
You will bandage the sun
with your shadow
lift its darkness too weak now
to even lean under your shoulder
—you kiss! higher, so high these stars
as a snowdrift stamping its feet
that once were yours
and stone. And dancing.
And from all that light
you spill out a knife
and the sun which never took root
lies still for the wound
refills the sky, the kiss
the kiss, the kiss, the kiss, the kiss and kiss.
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