The Night Says

I’ve been watching

the snow, pressed

between

the pages of a forest,

brush the light from

a dark bird

of prey.

My eyes turn silver,

that’s the degree

to which

my eyes wish

to be green.

We have a deal.

They tell me

where they’ve gone

when I am here,

I lie to them, understand? They

promised

so much.

“Night, love is

first sight.”

they say.

“Yes, love,” it says back,

“we’re blind.”


Firework

Say, I love you, in darkness,
and it will mean something different.
Wonder: is awe the spark of friction,
emptiness on flesh?
Ask, how true this is: the heart’s the sting
evaporating in
the atmosphere of the soul.
Then remember, fireflies float
like ash.

Lately

I am looking for something new.

I stare at my books. I am looking out the window.

I would like to say, Junebugs are speaking

to the stars, though that barely means

what I want it to.

Lately, I’ve been so calm, you say.

And I realize you are looking out a window

at me, looking for something old,

something the stars sang with.