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Funny,
how I find you in this room,
your shadow on the wall
like a stain or ghost,
the book face down
and streaming words.
And you,
standing at the end of day,
where the furniture is furred
like lumps of dusk,
the blue sky
deep and filled with stars.
We lay down on the floor.
The light speeds through the dark
of space, ends here, on your dress.
I watch your face. You turn
from the room to the night outside,
the mountains on the moon.
The secondhand sun
sparks in your eyes
and silhouettes trees,
dazzles on the lawn.
The leafless boughs twist and reach,
stretch to the depth of it all.