All Those Other Galaxies

there is something heavier
than these feathers in my throat,

these horses galloping
from one plush corner
of my heart to the other,

these ropes tethered to pull tight.


...if only it were so easy to cut through
longing with silver shears.


a comet burned through my life
and I expected it to stay,

to say, this is happiness
and you are happiness
and this is different
than all those other galaxies.


you’re even inside my bruises
where violets and rhododendrons are blooming.

there are gardens in my knees.

on my way

I am on my way
to somewhere sleek and soft
with my eyes out of focus,
my blistered hands
shoved into sweater-pockets.

I’ve got a fever for more,
a word so expansive
I can hardly breathe it out.

but what if I want to live here?

buy that tiny house I’ve admired for years
with the silver trashcan on the porch,
& the stars it its window-eyes?

what if I want to
catch the stormclouds in my cheeks
as they rumble down-river?

Lightning is only as thick
as this pen I am writing with,

and this town is as
enveloping as leaves
that flood the storm drains.