(modeled after Daphne Gittolieb's "Why Things Burn")
The sun’s reign came to an end
when its arms no longer know
when to rise and when
Somewhere in the heavens,
87 constellations threw an uprising.
I was there. When I walked beneath
your canopy of blue, your pistols
cocked towards the light.
You knew I was singing
lovers song, fighters
song, muzzle against my temple.
There is no difference
between the sun’s blood
sunshine and starshine. I am a body
fevers and you are of dead
philosophers. If we sing proud,
it’s an anthem.
I am so leaden, people have carved
constellations on me: Corvus. Corona
Australis. They bleed
opium smoke. Lovers song,
You tell me to kneel
and vow: ‘telescope,’ ‘empty
night.’ As you pointed
your silver sword of Polaris
a manifesto, I plucked a pair of astronomers'
eyes. Inky. Certain. All seeing.
We were brighter in golden
aiguillettes and it rained mahogany tears
till the sun set. 87 constellations
threw an uprising
in the heavens.
I never heard the battle cries.
Till the sun set, I held my witness
unmoved, like promises
waiting to be broken.
It's a modeling practice but I quite like it.