1 Tbsp. Gravity, Heaping

What fiery force flung us here
through the holy doors of mothers?
My body showed up in the sand, at the shore
painted toward the earth, fading from the sun
as surf swallowed me in stages.
Is this the end of progress? Have we finally made it
to civilization's gory climax, rumbling chainsaws held high
above the trembling sense of plenitude and purpose?
The ceiling fan whirs without breaking the heat
and in her laced, barely-there black nightgown
nihilism keeps tempting and tempting again.
Is something really imperceptibly intended,
painted blue with fingertips, kindergarten morals
written underneath the river-hiss of tires on pavement,
smeared by the hand of an infant-god
invisibly behind the lines of divorce papers?
Is it here where the universe starts? Ends?
Can we ever name the night?
The sun still sets in Boston, out over a wide country
that someone somewhere will never see.
The moon shows us the sun,
the earth the moon. But if we spread our vision wide
to wrap around us like a quilt, will we stop our interminable turning away?
In the middle of an unoccupied Tuesday, walking along the river
I wake like a bird beneath the wide and cloudless stretch,
see nothing above but the brilliant blue burning
to be understood. Are you as it and I?
Have you feared the weightless void?
There is no rough beast slouching toward us,
no axiom to define the contours of your breath.
In the neon-glowed night, I float on my feet light as I was
in the billions of mornings before the earth turned.
Do you think we were not waiting then
as we are now, hungry for emotion and purpose?
The smallest speck of something is hurtling toward us
at tremendous speed it flies through the void
tearing through cosmos to be born as an orchid.
What is the smell of baked bread?
What is this fault-line in my chest?
Does the morning sun on white kitchen tiles
strum a 12-string guitar in your heart?
Can the trees in city sidewalk squares
grow indifferent to forests?
I want you to crash into my center
like a water-balloon filled with light,
like we've never ever been
hurt by anything before.