It’s not a sad scene but I
almost cry upon seeing everyone wrapped
in each other’s grace.
The light arrives marred but clear, almost elegant.
Do you ever get the feeling that something is about to change
but you’re unsure of what exactly it is or when exactly it will happen?
The ground beneath us is dirt, is hard,
wants rain. More and more people arrive,
some not even knowing I would be there.
Each person, a map
of where I’ve been
& what I will leave behind.
I love & kiss the sides of their necks.
Love is the sky, pitched black, radiant dot
of white to guide young hearts to this spot
in a backyard fashioned into a meeting place.
I feel like crying but then make a joke,
watch everyone become some unbreakable glass.
We shouldn’t be here at all. None of us.
The world is turning over. I mean
my world is turning over. I mean
my world is turning me over.
Everyone here eventually leaves.
Even some two by two.
All my life, I want to write a good poem about the moon.