It's such a strange thought to imagine just seven years from now we will be completely new people. Seven years from now each and every cell that embodies us will be shed and reborn again. Our skin will be new skin and our bones will be new bones. Seven years from now, we will have a body that past lovers will have never touched. Seven years from now, all our flaws and imperfections that gnawed at us before will be washed away and we will be renewed. Seven years from now, we will not recognize our old selves, for our looks will have changed but so will our minds. Seven years from now, we will know and have seen more, for better or worse. We will grow and evolve. We will have our virtues ripped from our throats, and we will build new ones. *Seven years from now, you will not recognize me at all.

I guess I will never really understand
The maniac ups and downs of my moods
Like a rollercoaster that can never make up its mind
But how it differs from a theme-park ride
Is that it never stops, it never rests, it just keeps
turning and spinning 'round one corner to the next *****
And I am constantly dizzied by this notion that
I can never gain control
I can never find rest

The moon shines a cool blue tonight
as we entwine our fingers, laying on the baseball field
beneath diamond heavens. We lie
in silence, in the moments when the Universe reveals
itself, and contemplate the distances between one celestial body to
another, the space between
us growing as I turn south
to find Orion while you seek Cassiopeia in the north.

Shooting stars cross the sky, and we wish separately on dead
stars and dead dreams, lights already grown red and extinguished
as we whisper in the dark, passing
between phases.

And in the end we're all left searching.

I only prayed to the moon after it rose beyond
my window, the white sill a frame for waning
crescents and gibbouses--milk-drowned gods
dripping stars as they climbed skeleton branches--
some nights resting behind flood-heavy clouds.
People say the moon has a face, but
I have yet to see it sneer at my sins even as it tastes
my ocean-drop tears, evaporated into sky-bound veils,
brushed along the shadowed craters ...

The moon itself bemoaned imperfections in midnight
wind creaking branch against branch until I woke
slow from sleep--sad light staining my walls
pallid, pale as my own skin, glowing in muted
television shows left running while I dreamt
the moon spilled a star between my ribs--
dim luminescence radiating warm,
and the star, seeping through my pores, thawed
the ice I had prayed to melt in the first place.