Out of These Wounds, the Moon Will Rise

Now that the sun has set and the rain has abated,
And every porch light

                                           in the neighborhood is lit,
Maybe we can invent something; I'd like a new

Way of experiencing the world, a way of taking
Into myself the single light shining at the center

Of all things without losing the dense, eccentric
Planets orbiting around it.

                                       What you'd like is a more
Attentive lover, I suppose—. Too bad that slow,

Wet scorch of orange blossoms floating towards
The storm drain is not a vein of stars . . . we could

Make a wish on one of them; not that we would
Wish for anything but the impossible.