Sometimes it gets dark in here, I need your eyes
To hollow it down for me. My blood is sanguine,
My heart, so steep, I imagine what it means to be
Remembered this way. A dancing fire hatching
Itself into a conflagration. I do not believe that I
Somehow outgrew this body, because how else
Do I explain this brittle dream I keep on having?
The one where I am a flaneur, & loneliness drapes
Every flat-footed dance I make. I am incandescent
& sometimes I let the fire quieten inside me a bit.
The weathermen report that the lightning forked
Its way through the ribcage of the clouds & I think
I imagined for a bit the eyes of my brothers outside
Eyes filled with heaven, body torqued into graceful
Etchings—the ghost of moonshine & all that white
Emptiness. Down, with all that laying, the tablecloth,
The spoons, candlelight, mars, sunglow, crushed
Into paste, laughter now pours from their sunburnt
Faces. How can you, in this trying time, administer
Fine prints of sorrow, crocuses & shattered sprigs?
How did you learn to hurt like that empty music clef?