Sagittarius

Grayscale, the night
is a grand companion. Where
you are more

abundant than the sun
falling as dust mites
to the floor. In how

many dreams have I
seen your hands,
moving in the margins

of my sight. At your work,
at your work. I would
watch you if I could, but

the walls between stars
have hardened. As
your elbow,

pulled toward the clock
of the moon; lighter
than static

and moving further
away. Frozen, as my heart,
in the months of ducks.
Weaving

through capitulate
memory.

Author's Note

2015