~
"Satellite, oh, satellite
who sits upon our skies
how deep do you see
when you spy into our lives?"

This is for when
coyote called
into the ether
connecting heaven to earth
For when
glasnost sang
and velvet revolution
twinkled in the humming air

This is for when
the quiet hedges
of lilies and remains
came out of darkness
For when
the misty curtain man
shopping for codes and antiquities
poisoned the salt shakers

This is for when
a spy in an alcove
twisting the thermos tops
to his dark-eyed sister
shelled the transmitters
of Radio Free Europe
For when
his wife refused

This is for when
working in the glass structure
of a Cold War
made spider and I
a measured room
an arc of doves
For when
the last step from the surface
was the end of a thin cord
~

The sky refused to break all at once -
rain crumbled over in stubborn little halts

as we stood there, simpletons and gods alike
under the wet and ashen hem that hovered

as if reluctant to descend into our phalanx
of grief. Suits and ties our inadequate shields

against the cold clench at the throat
as the mourning file piled pale flowers

in lieu of words because words, too,
had halted in the air. Trees drew

bruises across the young afternoon,
& the white water tower rose like a giant

trying to understand our forms of death:
how we ringed round the opened earth

& fed our memories to each other
because it salved the worst of the hewn

wounds raw-carved into brains by loss,
& reminded us of what's left, of who we were.

I am not your autumn's  moon
I am not the winter's gloom
I am not the words uttered under your breath .
I am more than the disguised antagonist to your angst
I am more than the good luck you keep to yourself
I am the shadow to your depth
The zero to your worth
I am more than your curse

I’ve met the night a hundred times—
She carries no remorse,
Her silver hand upon my chest
A silent, steady force.

Her breath is like a frozen hymn,
Too soft for earth to hear—
Yet chills my soul, and bends my will
Until it disappears.

I sought to end the endless ache
With shadows on the wall,
But shadows only shift and shrink,
And answer not my call.

There is no mercy in the stars,
No kindness in the frost—
Yet some persist to claim that light
Redeems what has been lost.

End me, then, O faithful dark—
Unbind this brittle form,
And leave me not to linger here
Through one more bitter storm.