Apogee, Perigee

—the tracks that bodies cut
across the heavens and are mimicked
on this earth: I used to worry

that I couldn’t stop the rush
forward and away; everything
I tried to build, tether,

coax to stay— Helpless
in the pendulum swing
from love to loss

and back again, skies alternating
mild and azure, then lit like wicks
aflame— Cups and bowls

drying on the sink, empty
at the moment, know there is
a shape for every hunger.

 

In response to thus: devour.

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