Balancing Constellations

The calluses have seeded the habit

To no longer write poetry about a woman

Until the equilibrium shifts to assume that stoic silent

Floating mist amalgamating why of non-response

Is more solid than vapor and will soon enough plummet

This see-saw of leverage modifying the fulcrum

Of presence, non-presence into departure

The quietude of exit stage left, the erasure monologue

Sometimes texted-out, email, others nothing, never spoken

Gotten it down to an unanswered pair of phone calls

Two is enough to discern, if a woman wants to create distance

She simply does, no explanation, elaboration, beyond the bare sky

The cosmos speaks enough, the smaller infinities and the larger infinities

Dabbling up on the canvas, steaking in lunar maps like Cassius to dear Brutus

Applying blame between the constellations and the observant players

The bladed gut-wrench seizure of finding air so precious in the magnanimity

You want to see what happens to all the people you knew while living after you die

Especially the ones you loved, still love, maybe even might have loved

As if in one of these paths all that never was, also came to be as all possibilities

Exist at once in the theater of time’s illusion so that to love one is to love the universe itself

To document that act of concern of determination of non-concern of loving or non-loving

The guillotine finality of it all in acts of allowing another human being to be alone

In the fallow pool of expectation of communication or non-communication, of purpose

Of inclusion or exclusion to this petty fortresses battened with scab-years and soliloquies

To say, “I don’t know, but I want to try, to attempt speaking, being present, awakening before you.”

These gorgeous nude carnal thrusts bursting in bonded flesh are interrogative sentences

Licking the masks off, sugary and sand-tongued to carve away the beaches of this world

The microscopic seashells baked on top of our forms until the contents of the sun-bellies

That birthed us fuse, humbled and mesmerized by the opaque audacity to be in a single moment

No longer about skin, by being-hood luminous and balanced to talk in the ancient

Seeing constellations from the star’s perspective, glowing connected, making the lines vibrate

In these arms to yours, in the silence this could all be painted there, I could have seen it between us

Alas I know what it is like to hear that expectation hardened into assumption into time’s conclusion

Reality has a way of speaking without need of saying