Saturday, August 15, 2009

Shooting Star

Nova, pure periphery, cast into immobile black, a few blazing
dispatches from abroad, streaks of glass trailing white in the commonplace
hour, autonomous, available in the beds of stars and interrupted councils,
argument of the untended topiary, their animals rising in shapes unintended
to move, though we suffer distinction, and at the hand of the shadow-marvels
the promontories sail, and still mistake the morning’s garden-immobility,
birches once fluent with yellow light, that what was sent here is altered,
what was witnessed casual, terraced into the available, shapes of love
or maybe only shapes in the bed, single star streaking in cracked silence
above our argument, casual, intended to move, intended to harbor light,
though we hurt each other, and failing this witness mistake fluency,
some cry obscured in the bed beneath my answer, bearing the old autonomies,
to interrupt our sky’s night-flying council which, threaded and glittering,
could make us, in the sudden prescription of that dropping line of
light, still, or simply quiet, and cease in time to be ourselves.

-Joanna Klink