he was the star that floated in water, lacking
space (& she was an astronomer in hawaii, or in
lower case (she’s the satellite’s document of a
dreamy eclipse (he’s like a word once lost, now
formed by her lips (when she says goodbye & oh!
that word all the stars go out (& it gets dark:
he drives through the night with just a radio &
his doubt (the elegant simplicity of life & her,
of their separation (caused snows from november
to fall across the nation (never does, we never
knew that the stars could dream (the reflection
we’ll never see; the white flakes’ mist a panic
beam (their lonely message across a face we call
the skies (cry or close your eyes –

               (i am a child