Poems
Celestial Bodies for Minor Lenses
Digging up a false humility, bereft of seed
he shut the last window to converse with the street—
the neighbors at this hour unconcerned with wheel spin
or newsprint snagged on homeless shapes. Promises
assumed the form of swearing, dictation from the damned
pictures taken on a drive through a fruit-plush valley.
We stole but didn’t own the two-lanes’ divinations :
Sikh temples, hobbled aqueducts, a pendulous orchard
yielding gravestone. Great and secret lies blew about
feral, darkening the headwaters of the city. Courting
a madness our arms couldn’t hold, heavy with surrender
to interior barrens—in spite of this. The park teems
with creatures, gorged each night on constellations’ chaff.
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