DAY EIGHTY-THREE (2015-6-30)
Orbit is just falling with grace:
a constant near miss,
a skip skip across the surface of light.
The mesh of Jupiter -
that stern cut of nose, which simultaneously
sees both the past and the possible -
overlaid against the soft throat of Venus -
a desire to be touched, the knowledge of how to hold, a need
to stir the flesh and skin and the soft inner parts of the heart -
to form something so bright, so momentary.
It is a fire, an ache across ages, a light
that has crossed years to know us
and to see us home.
In this capsule, we spin:
floating, trying, attempting to steer ourselves
into something better,
a trajectory of the hopes
that we will plummet, tumble
and before the crash,
find the breathlessness of pause
and chute, catch, softly land.