i am a hopeless disaster
of bones that run hollow
and blood that runs tar
but you,
baby you're a constellation
a firework exploding with
infinite galaxies
palms lined with gold

let me rain a little
on that parade of yours

When I think of you
I want to send praise to the heavens
I want to raise every mountain on this benevolent earth to the skies
Because it even for one second let me experience
The place you hold in it.

When I think of you
I want to rage at the heavens
I want to raze every mountain on this spiteful earth to the ground
Because it even for one second let you think
You had no place in it.

When I think of you
Lately
I seem to want a lot of things.

My heart leaps up when I behold*
a skinny-lit vein split even the sky
and I am held, scared as a child,
by the wonder of its roar, my cry's
like that of a lint quietly set alight
in the large of the pitch-dark night.

I would not move from the bed
and yet, I cannot help but stare
through curtains like a coward,
pared apart by curiosity to where
I wish to slide open the window
and see what the sky did sow.

The Child is son to the mother,
and should he ever need forget
he only need look to a shatter
in the sky. The crash on his head
that follows goads, “You know
where your father goes to crow.”