Where has the sun been tonight?
Shining in your eyes.
I sleep, you wake. You sleep, I wake.
You and I are only what the internet spies.
Our lives are broken by a place.
I move where stars do not see me move.
We move in and out of shadows made by the same sun.
You find my every thought is the same one:
I want to be in your evening, I want to swim in your night,
To evolve in the same sunlight.
There is a garden growing in the sixteenth place
Where two suns shine, face to face.
The tiniest upheaval of the sky
Is beyond us, looking up, listlessly.
We woke to a loveless death,
And we slept, that emptiness might die.
Before the garden became my bed,
Around a corner came a cloud I found
In a dream, its last shape slumbering in the ground,
Wetting the earth, the moss soft to the touch.
You can never touch the earth too much.
Your earth is yours, and this one is mine.
We seek the complex and the length of ourselves.
Unfortunately, love is the shortest line.
Not moon, not fire, nor any planet can take
Notice of how I sleep—or how you wake,
On each side lost in this side’s blue.
The world needs sides as it glides.
You and I burn on different sides.
Ours, the poetry which does not speak
In the morning, ours, a night to hide—
Poetry, dreams, which are round, too,
Are shaped so I can surmise in the moon-rise, you,
But the moon is only what we call the moon.
There is more movement
On the orbiting world I am on
Than what my careful movements seem
To you, living at the very end of my dream.
My travel towards you is not done,
Languishing behind your hurrying sun.
Time for breakfast. Maybe wine,
And dreaming, falling asleep, to dream
One day your evening will be mine.